


Disarm You With a Smile

by WillowLong



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Awkward Flirting, Blow Jobs, Canon Jewish Character, Crimes & Criminals, Cute, Cute texts, Denial, Depression, Desperation, Dirty Thoughts, Divorce, Domestic Violence, Drinking, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drug Withdrawal, Drugs, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Flirting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Heroin, Hurts So Good, Kissing, Loneliness, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Outdoor Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Public Blow Jobs, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sad Fiddleford, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safer Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shyness, Sloppy Makeouts, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-23 12:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8328376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowLong/pseuds/WillowLong
Summary: Suburban life in California  turned out to be exactly how he thought it would. Positively, mind-numbingly boring. Every day he went through the same blasted routine. Wake up before his wife. Get dressed. Cook Tate breakfast. Make sure his clothes matched and clean up whatever had spilled in the kitchen today. Get him off to school and walk him to his kindergarten class. All of that changes when he meets who he thought was his old college roommate in a dark, run-down bar on the outskirts of his mundane, yuppie suburb. He thinks he might have found how to save himself. And maybe someone else.  Takes place in an AU where Fidd's was able to patent his laptop BEFORE Ford decided to go all, portal crazy. He still does, just...later than expected.





	1. Touch-Starved

**Author's Note:**

> The tags are going to be added as I go because, Jesus H. Christ this is going to be something. 
> 
> *EDIT* Ok, for the sake of keeping this shit going, Fidds doesn't live in Palo Alto. I'm really sorry to anyone who's been reading this but it really doesn't change anything in the story other than it will make more geological sense.

Suburban life in California  turned out to be exactly how he thought it would. Positively, mind-numbingly boring. Every day he went through the same blasted routine. Wake up before his wife. Get dressed. Cook Tate breakfast. Make sure his clothes matched and clean up whatever had spilled in the kitchen today. Get him off to school and walk him to his kindergarten class. 

 

This he enjoyed. Tate was smart for his age. Reading at a first grade level and able to solve simple math questions. His speech was a little off and he often confused concepts and meanings but his teacher never minded to correct him. He revelled in the fact that his boy was the smartest in his kindergarden. He sure as hell wasn’t about to brag about it at PTA meetings or slap one of those dang ‘My kid is an Honour Student’ stickers on the back of his truck, but he made sure the little hayseed knew how proud he was.

 

Unfortunately, being the smartest, he was also the biggest trouble maker. When you’re smart, being a little hellion can break the will of even the strongest men. He’d been like that when he was a boy. Chasing girls on the playground with Gardener snakes and fashioning swords out of sticks just to go into the school and built a sustainable paper sailboat using a rubber band and crayon as a little propeller. He secretly loved those angry calls from the principal telling him that Tate had ‘ripped the ink out of all of his markers and put them in the back of the toilet to, quote, make the water prettier,’.  

 

They had hardly taken a step in the classroom before Tate’s teacher and a few students were on them like wildfire in September. 

 

The kids all loved ‘Mr. McGucket’. He had been a frequent helper in their preschool class and the school was small enough to where all of the kids had gone on to kindergarten together. Fiddleford selfishly loved the fact that he could nearly hypnotize a class of fifteen sugar fueled five year olds with a piece of pencil lead and a light bulb.Tate loved it too. He got to see his pa all day and his friends thought he was just as cool as his daddy. Especially when he started his mischief with the art supplies. 

 

“Mr. McGucket! Just the man I wanted to see. Good morning!” He smiled in the direction of the voice  as Tate was tugging at his hand and pointing to a picture on the wall by the window. 

 

“Hello Mr. McGucket! Hi! Will you come look at our pictures? Want to play race cars with us? Look at my new dolly. Her name is Peggy.” Fiddleford knelt down in order to hand out all of the necessary hugs and look at the new (mostly rediscovered at the bottom of the toy chest) toys. 

 

“These sure are swell! I love her dress! Maybe later, darlin’. You gotta go listen to yer lessons.” He stood and smiled weakly at the hardly phased woman in front of him. 

 

“Pa! Look! That one’s mine! See?” Tate’s high voice squeaked with excitement as he attempted to drag the lanky man to the pieces of colored paper littering the wall. 

 

“Woooah there, June Bug. Pa’ll look at it in a sec’nd. I’ll be right there after I talk to your instructor.” 

 

“Alright.” With that he was gone, running after a group of boys who had formed a matchbox track in the corner of the room.

 

“Sorry bout’ that, ma’me. How are you doin’ this mornin’?” He stood straight, bowing slightly and mimed tipping the brim of a hat invisibly perched over his messy blonde hair. 

 

“Oh, jeeze. I’ve told you a million times, my name isn’t ‘ma’me’. Call me Susan!” She swatted his arm frowned playfully. She was a wonderful woman in Fiddleford’s eyes. Just passing her mid sixties and her dark brown hair had started to grey but her bright green eyes showed no intention of aging past thirty. Her clothes seemed to smell of laundry detergent no matter the time of day. If Fiddleford had been a weaker man he wouldn’t even try to resist the urge to stay in class with his son and cuddle with her during naptime as if she were his own mawmaw. 

 

“Well, now  _ Susan.  _ My name isn’t Mr. McGucket. At least not to anyone over the age of twenty. It’s Fiddleford.” He winked gaily and smiled wide when she blushed.

 

“Well now, _ Fiddleford _ . I know it might be a bit short notice but I wanted to ask you to accompany us on our class field trip to the farm on Monday. Principle Carmon was supposed to be coming alone but was taken away from us by the school board. Them and their silly meetings. And forgive me if this is out of line, but out of all of the parents here, I know you would appreciate it more than any of they would have. Plus the children adore you. That is unless, you’re otherwise occupied. I know you’re a busy man. ” 

 

“I’m tickled pink, Mrs. Campbell. Why I can’t think of anythin’ else I’d rather do Monday. Or an’day for that matter. I’m startin’ to go mad’n this town. Everythin’ is so close together. Can’t darn well walk down the street without feelin’ claustrophobic.”

 

“You’re sure I’m not dragging you away from your work?” She quirked her eye giving him a hard, questioning glance. 

 

“Sugar, that’s the thing about bein’ yer own boss. I can do whatever I please.” He winked again, hoping to get the same blush as before and fully succeeding.

 

“Well, alright then. I think I’ve took up enough of your time. Your public awaits.” 

 

His smile brightened as he headed toward the group of boys who had gathered on the carpet next to their make-shift racing track. 

“Mr. McGucket, can you build us a better race track?” Fiddleford bent over to look at the stacks of crayon boxes and lincoln logs that they had used to construct the track. 

 

“Now why would I wanna do that? This one looks fine’n dandy to me. Ya’ll fella’s did a wonderful job. I do think I’m gonna have to inquire about this here...umm...what is this, huh?” He grabbed something that looked like a mulit-colored eraser but was oddly shaped and lumpy with bits of the carpet stuck in it.

 

“It’s our old gum!” One of the boy’s spoke up, as proud as a peacock at their gum-wad. Fiddleford made a face of disgust but then set it back in its place near the center of their track. He’d done MUCH worse things in his early engineering career. He shuddered slightly at the memories. One in particular involving a lot of spray-can cheese and a horse saddle that he wished to god he could forget. He’d have to look into developing some kind of memory altering helmet or something.

 

“Well, be sure not to let it get stuck to anything. I’ll see ya’ll later. Be good for Mrs. Campbell and I’ll bring back a treat before ya’ll go home. Deal?” He held out a slim, calloused hand to the group and waited until each of them had shook his hand. “Alright. Goodbye.”

 

“Pa! Now will you look at my drawing?” Tate pulled on the leg of his father’s worn jeans. 

 

“Of course, sweet pea. Which on is yours, huh?” He looked over the wall of drawings of sun’s wearing glasses and trees and what looked like dogs? 

 

“Here! This one.” Tate jabbed a tiny finger at a green blob with wings surrounded by trees. 

 

“It’s a pterodactyl!” His smile reached his eyes as Fiddleford looked over the drawing of the dinosaur. 

 

“My stars, June Bug! This is beautiful! It’s gonna go right on the wall at home in’a nice frame. Is that ok with you?” He ruffled the young boy’s thick brown hair, sending it cascading down his forehead and covering his eyes. 

 

“Yeah, pa! That’s ok!” 

 

“Why don’t ya go over there and help your friends with their race track, huh?” Fiddleford bent over to lift his son into his arms. “But first-”, he planted an exaggerated kiss on the young boy’s cheek and turned his face away from him as he giggled. “Now, where’s mine?” He smiled as his son clumsily attempted the same degree of theatrics. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Be a good boy, ya’ hear?”

 

“I will! Bye!” With a wave he was gone to play with his friends and Fiddleford was out the door. 

  
  
  


He drove his rusted old Ford down the tree lined streets of their neighborhood, sighing heavily at the sight that mocked him every morning. Million dollar houses complete with hundred thousand dollar cars and swimming pools and dogs no bigger that a sack of flour connected to what he wouldn’t be surprised to find out to be gem studded leashes. People jogged down the sidewalk in hundred dollar track suits and sneakers. Lawns were mowed with neat criss-cross patterns and bushes were trimmed as if by some unnatural force overnight into perfect squares. He hated every second of it.

 

It was his wife, Carol, who’s idea it was to move here. She wanted to live life like a dang queen and she had no problems using his money to do it. She never wanted to marry him, but one little drunken mistake in college and now ‘To death do us part’ couldn’t seem to get there quick enough. Luckily he had had more faith in his inventions than she did at the time and signed a prenuptial without question. She hasn’t asked for a divorce and he wasn’t about to push it. She was absent enough from their little boy’s life as it is. She never wanted kids and did as little as possible to take care of their little June Bug. Still, he needed a mother figure in his life. He didn’t want to completely take that away from him and if his thoughts continued on their current path, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get married again. To be honest, he’s surprised he’d gotten the woman pregnant in the first place. 

 

“Hey!” A shout from his neighbor's driveway caught his attention as he was pulling into his yard. “McGucket!”

 

Fiddleford groaned and pushed the heel of his hand into his forehead preparing for the same conversation he had with the bloated old man every day since he’d moved in. Leaning over the passenger seat, he cranked the window down and forced a smile.

“Mornin’ Mr. Oakwood. Nice, sunny day today, ain’t it?” 

 

“Sure, sure. Until that noisey piece of junk came rolling down the road. Look around you. Do you see anyone else driving a truck that looks like got at least two girls pregnant in the back seat during some hillbilly hoedown? No. This is a nice neighborhood. You’ve got the nicest home on the street and you’re ruining it with your backwoods hick garbage.” His round face was quick to turn red when he was yelling at Fiddleford. He often found himself thinking about what it looked like when he heard him screaming at his wife or the UPS man.

 

“Well, ye’r sure entitled to ye’r opinion, Mr. Oakwood but I happen to love ol’ Bertha, here an’ I don’t plan’n givin’ her up until she ain’t got a spark of life left in’er. And that’s gonna be quite a long time considerin’ the motor I built’er shouldn’t be quittin’ for at least another fifteen years.” He patted the side of his door and flashed the fuming man an icy grin. 

 

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius.” 

 

“That don’t mean I ain’t still Tennessee trash now, does it?” He leaned back over to the driver side and switched gears. “Ye’r wife and you are always welcome over for supper!” He shouted out the window as he drove up the drive, crossing his fingers that his wife wouldn’t be home. 

 

Fiddleford parked his truck on the side of the house where it wasn’t visible from the road. It was the least he could do to try and keep a little bit of peace in his home. It killed him that Tate had to listen to him and Carol bicker and argue about the smallest, most trivial things day after day. He tried so hard not to let her get to him. From staying in his garage as much as humanly possible to being as sweet and charismatic as he could possibly attempt. Nothing could make her happy. If he stayed in his garage, she got pissed that he wasn’t around to take care of Tate. If he tried to be romantic and hold her or even hint at the suggestion of sex, she called him clingy and made up every excuse in the book not to touch him. Hell, he was pretty sure she made up some new ones. 

 

It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to sleep with her more as he was still a human. A married human. A married human man in the prime of his life and there was only so much he could accomplish with his own hand and a few toys hidden in the bottom of his sock drawer. He was starved for human contact. Just a brush of a hand on his shoulder anymore was enough to send emotions coursing through his body. He knew it probably wasn’t fair that he had Tate hug and kiss him so much and was more than welcoming to the hugs the children offered him in class but it very well might be the only thing keeping him from going insane from isolation. He was nearly positive Carol was cheating on him and it had come to the point where he often brought a pillow into his sons room and curled up with him in his small pirate ship he’d built for his little explorer just so he could get some sleep at night.

 

  “Hello? Anyone home?” His voice rang out, responding to him in an eerie echo. Thank his sweet stars the walking thornbush was out spending his money. The clock on the wall read nine thirty. Still four more hours until he had to go back and pick up his little June Bug. He could get there a little earlier. He had promised the boy’s a treat hadn’t he? He could bake some cookies. Or he could actually go and get some work done.  The only problem with that is he knew it was never a good idea for him to invent while under stress. It never really worked out for him. On the other hand, Tate’s birthday was coming up and he had been slacking off on the shopping department. He was sure he had enough scrap metal in the shed to make something cool for the little sprout. And nothing ever made he feel quite as complete as a screwdriver and a soldering gun.

 

It was three hours before Fiddleford wiped the sweat off of his forehead, a wide smile splitting his face. He had hardly accomplished anything but he knew that this one was going to be worth it in the end. He glanced over at the little Kit-Cat clock that hung on the wall of his lab. Sure, it was corny but he adored the danged thing. It reminded him of the one his mama had back when he was a kid. 

 

“Sweet sarsaparilla! I gotta learn to start settin’ an alarm when I come in here.” He looked down at the streaks of oil and singe marks on his sleeves and shrugged. “Ain’t got nobody to impress.” 

 

He stopped off at the bakery run by a young spit-fire named Bethany and her boyfriend Elliot on his way to the school. They were both as sweet as the cakes they baked and twice as pretty. Bethany didn’t give into the gluten free, sugarless, cardboard diets that seemed to be the only thing these people ate around here. When he had first arrived in Palo Alto he was sadder than a turtle on asphalt. On one of his walks around town with his little June Bug he had spotted the displays from the windows and was naturally lured inside. When he had asked if they had or were intending to bake any molasses cookies, the darling girl told him no, but she was always looking to try something new and to come back tomorrow. He swears on his own grave that that girl had to have been sent from heaven. She had prepared some of the best cookies he had ever had the glory of sticking in his mouth.This was why it was one of the only shops around he visited on a semi-regular basis. Today he went in intending to pick up the sugariest, most cavity causing cookies and cupcakes that he could fine. Poor kids out here, growing up thinking that that devil himself created high fructose corn syrup. Like Mawmaw always said, ‘run it off’. Then again, there weren't many hogs to chase around in California. Ehh. He was ok with being the weird, rebel parent.  He’s learned that embracing the disgusted looks that he gets from the other parents is a lot more fun than sulking. Tate was just as happy, if not happier than most of those little britches being raised by yuppie, spray-tan fuckers. 

 

“Well, Mr. McGucket! What brings you in today? Oh, my. You’ve got a little something-,” the young girl behind the display case gestured to her cheek. Fiddleford leant down to examine himself in the reflection of the case but the glare from the window was blinding and he ended up smearing the grease across more of his face. 

 

“Haha. You’re making it worse.” Elliot crossed the room, grabbing a dish towel and wetting it at the sink. “Let me.” He grabbed Fiddleford’s chin and turned his face toward Bethany as he wiped the smudges away. She rolled her eyes as Elliot gave one last unnecessary wipe over his bottom lip and winked. 

 

“Ell, stop being a fucking creep.” She huffed and did her best to hide the laugh she was hiding at Fiddleford’s reddening cheeks.

 

“Boy, you’re gonna be the death of me, I tell ya’. He shook his head and headed back to the display case to gaze over today’s selection. 

 

“Aww. Come on, Fidd’s. When are going to let Beth and I take you on the tour of the place, huh?” Elliot leant on the counter, his eyes dancing over Fiddleford’s body and settling on his face with a little eyebrow wiggle. 

 

He couldn’t help the giggled sigh that escaped his mouth as he shook his head and stared meaningfully at his dirty sneakers. 

 

Elliot nudged him with his elbow. “Huh? Huh? If you think the cookies are good, you should taste the pie.” 

 

“”Oh my sweet christ, Elliot! Stop! You’re going to scare off the only customer I actually like. Fidd’s, please ignore my mentally unstable boyfriend. I’m trying to get him the help he so obviously needs.” 

 

“But Beeeeth!” He sprawled himself dramatically over the counter and gave Fiddleford his best attempt at puppy dog eyes before Bethany had the chance to swat him with the wet dishrag. 

 

“Now, Elliot. Ya’ll know Im’ma married man.” Even if he hadn’t slept with his wife in at months and he wasn’t really too riled up about the idea anyways. Still, he faked a mocking glare in the young man’s direction. “B’side’s I’m way too old for you.”

  
  


“What? You’re like, five years older than me, max. How old are you?” He jumped up and sat on the counter, apparently not worried in the least about health codes. Fiddleford could respect that. 

 

“I’m twen’y six.” 

 

“Ok, so six years older than me.” 

 

“Elliot, go get the muffins out of the oven and stay back there until they cool. Or longer.” His face fell comically as he wrinkled his brow in mock-frustration, looking for all of the world like a despondent child.

 

“Fine. See ya’ next time, _ Mr. McGucket _ .” He said these last words as if mocking him. Fiddleford rolled his eyes and smiled as the younger man jumped down from his perch and heading into the depths of the bakery. 

 

“Just ignore him. He just likes to get you flustered because, admittedly, it’s incredibly adorable.” Bethany started pulling out some of her most heavily frosted cupcakes, already knowing what he wanted coming in at this time of day. 

“Aww, I don’t mind it a bit. S’not like I wanna’ say ‘no’. Just weighed down by the beatin’s of a southern preacher an’ my maw. Ain’t no breakin’ that oath now.” 

 

“Oh, man. You don’t exactly sound like a happily married man.” Bethany stopped arranging his cupcakes long enough to look up into his eyes. 

“I said ‘married’. Not happily married. More like, she doesn’t want to give up livin’ in a fancy house and squanderin’ away my money’ and I don’t wanna leave Tate without a mama.” He sighed as Bethany finished placing his order on the counter. “Just wish she’d do somethin’ with me. Fuck, she doesn’t even have’ta look at me. Lord knows I’m gonna be keepin’ my eyes closed.”

 

“Would it be inappropriate for me to ask you just how long it’s been since you, you know. Had someone else touching you?” She didn’t seem to have even the slightest hint of reservation in her voice as she asked him. 

 

“Extremely. But I got no one else to bitch to. It’s been almost five months. I guess when I say it out loud, it doesn’t seem like a big deal but I’m dyin’. Just for human contact. It doesn’t even have to be foolin’ around. Just a cuddle or a little neckin’ maybe. Ah, consarn it. I shouldn’t be spoutin’’ off this garbage. I gotta get to that damned school. How much do I owe ya, darlin’?” He grabbed a crisp hundred dollar bill from his wallet, not intending to take the change. These kids deserved every cent. 

 

“Uhhh, $35.” She punched a few numbers into the cash register, her eyes downcast and her forehead wrinkled in concentration. She allowed their fingers to brush when she reached for the bill offered out to her. 

 

“You know, you could always find Tate a new mom.” Her eyes shone in the light sunlight pouring through the large windows surrounding the small bakery. 

 

“That’d take a miracle, sweetheart.” He allowed a sardonic giggle to mingle in with his words. 

 

“Yeah? And why is that? You’re sweet, attractive and charming. You’re a fucking literal genius. Any woman would die to have a guy like you.” She put her hand on her hip, preparing for the battle of self-esteem to set its pace. 

 

“That’s the problem. I only got this one pregnant cause’ I was drunker than my mawmaw on bingo night. Thought if I was round’ her enough, I’d learn to love her. Didn’t work.” Fiddleford grabbed his box and turned toward the door. “Keep the change, sugar. Thanks again.” 


	2. Broken Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford and his wife have a fight. Fiddleford heads off to the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers for domestic violence.

Fiddleford stopped in the front office of the school before heading to Tate’s kindergarten class to ultimately speed up these kids chances of getting diabetes. (And of course to piss off their parents.)

 

“Hello, ladies. Brought ya’ll somethin’.” He swung open the box of brightly colored cupcakes and walked around the counter, letting each of the two secretaries pick which one they wanted. He adored both of them. Rose was older, he guessed mid-fifties. She had worked in the office since her son was in fourth grade and knew nearly every person who walked in or out of the front doors. The other, Abby, was young. She was pushing her way through college and worked in the office as a way to gain a few credits as well as a paycheck; even if it was barely enough to keep gas in her car. She liked the perks.

 

“Mr. McGucket! Why do you always have to taunt us with the glory that is sugar. I’m going to weigh like, 300 pounds before I graduate.” Still, she nearly knocked her chair over in order to grab one of the cakes before he had a chance to shut the box and save her from herself. Fiddleford laughed and walked to the other side of the room where Rose was still typing away on her computer, gaze unfaltering as he neared the desk.

 

“Mr. McGucket.” Her fingers continued to fly across the keys but try as she might, she couldn’t help the glimmer of a smile when he set the box down next to her and leaned his elbows on a stack of papers. “You know you’re not supposed to come behind the counter. I can have you removed from the building, you know.”

 

He smiled, turning up the charm and resting his head in his hands as he tried to look over the top of the older woman’s computer. “Aww. Now why would ya’ wanna do that? I ain’t done a thing wrong. I just wanted to bring you hard workin’ gals somethin’ to show my gratitude toward all of the work you put in here.” He tilted his head and looked for all of the world like a puppy that was just put out in the rain. Rose huffed through a smile.

 

“And we love you for it. Your wife is one lucky lady.” Abby was wiping bright pink frosting from her face and walking over to where the couple were engaged in what had to be the saddest guilt stare she’d ever seen. “Just eat the damn cupcake, Rose. It’s almost as good as a child’s soul. You scary old lady.”

 

“Fine. But you better grab a visitor's pass and stop sneaking in here without one. I don’t care how many bakery bribes you offer.” Fiddleford stood up straight and clasped his hands together with a high pitched hum of victory when she finally grabbed one of the blue frosted cupcakes.

 

“Jesus, you’re adorable. Is it cool if I like, give you a hug as thanks? Because, I mean, cupcakes deserve bountiful thanks.” Abby didn’t wait for an answer before she had her arms around Fiddlefords thin chest. He stood still, slightly taken aback before relaxing and returning the hug. He wasn’t trying to be creepy, but he couldn’t help the deep breath he took in, smelling the warm floral scent of her shampoo. She squeezed him tight before letting him go and wandering back to her work station.

He cleared his throat and smoothed down the front of his burned and stained mess of a t-shirt. “You got it, hon.” Grabbing a visitor's pass, he hung the lanyard from his neck before gathering his box and leaving the office in the direction of Tate’s classroom.

 

He looked through the small window on the door and saw Mrs. Campbell sitting in a chair, surrounded by little bodies eagerly listening to the story she was reading. That lady was a miracle. She was reading upside down so that the students could all see the pictures and still was able to read with perfect emotional tone without stumbling over a single word. Waiting until she had finished was probably the best idea. There was no way in hell he was getting into that room while still letting them finish the story with a huge box in his hands. They all knew too well what he brought with him in boxes. If it wasn’t food than it was some kind of cool new project that he wanted to test with them. Either way, it was never a peaceful interruption.

 

“ _I do so like green eggs and ham! Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am.”_ She set the book down and he heard his queue in the form of little feet shuffling on the carpet. He swung open the door and stepped inside and an entire classroom of little faces turned his way. 

 

“Hey, hey! Woahhh! Careful, less’ you wanna eat floor cupcakes.” He held the box up over his head as fifteen small hands reached for the box.

 

“Cupcakes! Thanks, Mr. Mcgucket! Stop pushing me! Pa! What color are they? Can I have the first one?”

 

“Alright, kids! Now go sit in a circle on the rug and Mr. McGucket will come around and let you pick out what cupcake you want.” Mrs. Campbell stood next to Fiddleford and watched as the kids practically ran to sit back on the rug.

 

“S’like tryin’ to herd cats.” He watched in awe as they listened to the chatter coming from the students. “I don’t know how you do it. You must be sent from the heavens, Susan Campbell.”

 

“Lord almighty, McGucket.” She slapped his arm and rolled her eyes as he laughed. “Go give the little kittens their treats.”

 

“Yes, ma’me. Alright. Whoever can guess my favorite color can go first and I’ll go round’ startin’ from them.”

 

“Blue?”

“Nope.”

“Purple?”

“Nope.”

“Green?”

“Haha. Nope. Ya’ll are never gonna guess it.”  He was about to give up and just start with the kid closest to him until the circle came to a little girl named Maria. She was always quiet and polite. Never jumped or pushed to get in front for anything. She was one of Fiddlefords favorite students. (He’d never admit to having favorites, of course.) She always worn bright clothes and never matched her socks. He was surprised her parents let her leave the house without making sure her hair bow matched her dress. He actually would probably like her parents.

 

“Rainbow?” She was so quiet he couldn’t hear what she had said, just snickers from the boys around her.

 

“He’s a boy. You’re stupid. That’s dumb.” Her face reddened and she put her head down in her knees.

 

“Hey, now. Stop that. What did you say, honey?”

 

She raised her head just enough to expose her mouth and mumbled a little louder. “Rainbow.”

 

Well, he didn’t hate rainbows. That technically wasn’t a color but she was so damn perfect. “That’s actually exactly right, hon! My favorite color is the rainbow.” Nothing would compare to the sight of her little face as she looked at the boys with a face that so clearly said ‘Go fuck yourself’ in a way he thought was only possible on teenage girls and his wife. It warmed his heart.

 

Neon colors only visible to unicorns and someone on way too much acid speckled the faces and hands of the kids by the time their parents started arriving to pick them up.

 

“Alright, June Bug. Let’s get outta here.” He wiped the green frosting from Tate's face with the bottom of his t-shirt.

 

“You smell like your workshop. What are you making?” He grabbed his dad’s hand and swung it in time with their steps.

 

“Secrets.” Fiddleford put his finger to his mouth and grinned down at his son.

 

“Oh. Can we go to the park?” Fiddleford looked at his bare wrist as if he were checking the time.

 

“I don’t know if we’re gonna’ have enough time. What do you think?” he reached around to show Tate his invisible watch.

 

Tate was completely straight faced as he grabbed his dad’s wrist and looked at it. “There’s always time, pa.”

 

“You take way too much after me, boy.”

 

Fiddleford sat on the park bench as he watched Tate running around with a few other kids he was pretty sure he’d never seen in his life. He was such a socialite, that boy. If there was anything he didn't have to worry about with him, it was his people skills. Never had any problem making a friend wherever he went. Fiddleford pulled a square box from his pocket and glanced at the clock on the front of the screen. He had been fiddling with the project for about a year now and he was pretty sure he had it down. It was a cell phone but was less than half of the size of the ones most people had now. He could carry it around in his pocket and use it as a camera and send messages through it like a pager. Except instead of codes, you could just write out exactly what you wanted to say using the numbers as a keyboard. He had one for Tate with only four buttons that only called whoever he programmed it to. Right now it was just him and his wife. Carol said it was dumb and that no one was ever going to need to send a message when they could just call them but she said his laptop was a stupid idea and look at them now. He had one other one that he kept in his car in case of emergencies but other than that, the idea was still on the table.

 

“Hey, June Bug! Time to get goin’. I still gotta’ make supper.”

 

“Coming pa!” A loose patch of gravel slipped under his feet as he was running and sent him tumbling onto the grass just beyond the gravel.

 

“Tate! Damnit.” Fiddleford jogged over to his son, fear gripping him as a nearby mother who had seen the fall was running to his aid.

 

“I’m alright, pa.” He got up and walked over to his dad. Fiddleford lifted him and set him on his hip, brushing the hair from his eyes.

 

“Tough kid, you have there.” The young mother smiled up at Tate and his father.

 

“Yup. He sure is.” He planted a kiss on the top of Tate’s thick haired head and inspected the scrap on his knee.

 

“Not often I see any fathers out here with their kids.”

 

“And it’s a darned shame.” He thought back on how many times Carol had come to the park with them. It hadn’t been since Tate was being potty trained. Anger flashed in the pit of his stomach before he pushed the thought down, hugging his son closer.

 

“Well, we better get goin’ Maybe we’ll see ya’ aroun’.” He smiled and headed back to the truck.

 

Carol’s car was in the driveway as they pulled up to the house. Fiddleford silently cursed before opening the backdoor and unbuckling Tate from his car seat.

 

“Mama’s home!” Tate scrambled out of the truck and up the walkway to the front door. Fiddleford felt his heart sink. The boy loved his mom so damn much and she couldn’t give a hoot in hell. He followed somberly to the house after his son.

 

“Fiddleford McGucket!” He hadn’t even gotten the door closed before he heard his name being yelled. He rolled his eyes to himself and muttered under his breath. ‘ _Lord almighty. Now what did I fucking do.’_ He shuffled into the kitchen where his wife had Tate sitting on the counter, her hands on her hips and brow furrowed in anger.

 

“What the hell happened to Tate’s knee?” She glared at him as if he had broken the boy’s arm with his own two hands.

 

“He slipped’n fell at the park. It’s just’a little scrap. He’s a boy. I had plenty’a scraps and bumps when I was on the farm.”

 

“Yeah, well we’re not on a damn hog farm, Fiddleford. You need to pay more attention to your son instead of those silly projects.”

 

He couldn’t handle it. He tried so hard every day to take what she said with a grain of salt. All of the comments on his hair or his clothes. Rude comments and put-downs about his work. Fire burned hot in his chest and red blurred his vision.

 

“I NEED TO PAY MORE ATTENTION? When was the last time you did anythin’ to take care of him? Huh? When have ya taken’ any time to take’m to school or the park? You don’t give a damn about anythin’ but yourself! Ya walk round’ the house wearin’ clothes that I can see damn well to Christmas and made me move to this god awful citified town where I ain’t got nothin’ to do but walk round’ like it’s a opossum on a stump! You’re heart’s thummpin’ like a gizzard, Carol and you ain’t got no place to talk to me like I don’t care bout’ my son. Yer meaner than a wet panther an’ I can’t take it anymore. Without me, you’d be too poor ta’ paint and I’d be fine with seein’ ya like that.” His hands had balled into fists at his side and his mind flashed to his neighbor, Mr. Oakwood but he couldn’t care less.

 

“I can’t understand a damn word you’re saying. You talk like a fucking hillbilly and you’re teaching my son how to do it too. Why can’t you be like a normal person and learn English? I don’t want my son growing up thinking a bale of hay is a unit of measurement. You’re immature and scared of every little thing that you can’t solve with a math problem. Not to mention the fact that you’re so far in the closet that a god damn search party couldn’t find you.”

 

His throat caught and he took a step closer. “You knew that ‘fore we even slept together! I was drunk and you didn’t care bout’ nothin’ but a good time! What’s that say, bout’ you, huh? I’ve been sufferin’ for five years cause’ of it, too! You’re out messin’ round’ with ev’ry Tom, Dick n’ Harry that give’s ya the time’a day and you refuse to touch me! I can’t fuck a man so I guess you’re the next best thing an’ I can’t even get that. You evil-” He couldn’t get the words out of his mouth before he felt wind on his face a split second before a stinging pain shot from his cheek. He felt a tooth colliding with his bottom lip and his mouth tasted like pennies. In front of him on the counter, Tate started to cry. Fiddleford’s mind went fuzzy as he pushed past his wife and went to his son, grabbing him and rushing into the living room.

 

“I love you, June Bug. Be good, alright? Pa’s gotta go out for a bit but he’ll be back in the morning. Don’t let your mama take you anywhere.” He grabbed the phone he had for Tate from the drawer in the front room desk and put it in his small hand. “If she does, use this and push the number 1. It will call me and I’ll come get ya. Got it?” He wiped a tear from Tate’s cheek with a rough padded thumb. It was still just as soft as the day he was born. Holding his baby in his arms, looking down into deep chocolate brown eyes and promising to keep him safe until the day he died. Now he was the one who was putting him in danger. A harsh breath choked him as he struggled against the rage and pain gnawing at his chest.

 

“W-Why did mama hit you, pa? Was I bad? I’m sorry, pa. I’m sorry I hurt my knee. I’ll be more careful. P-please don’t go.” Tate threw his arms around Fiddlefords neck and in that moment he hated everything about himself. But he couldn’t stay there right now. He knew what his temper was like when he was upset. It never ended well for anyone.

 

“It wasn’t you, June Bug. It was pa’s fault. You didn’t do a thing wrong, Got it? You just go and let your mama make you dinner and go to sleep like a good boy, alright? Pa will come in your room when he gets home. Don’t be scared if it’s not until after you go to sleep. You’re a good boy. Pa loves you so much.” He didn’t hide the tears that fell down his own face and mingled with the blood from his split lip as he pulled Tate away from his neck.

 

“Ok, pa. I will.” He sniffled and used the entirety of his small hand to wipe the tears away from Fiddlefords cheeks. He couldn’t hold back the whimper he made as he pulled Tate close once again. He could feel the little boy shaking in his arms. God he was a terrible dad. No kid should ever be afraid in their own home. Should never feel their dad crying in their arms as their mother threw things around the kitchen.

 

“I love you, Tate. I’m so sorry. It’s gonna be alright in the morning. I promise. We’ll go get pancakes. Sound good? Huh?” He tried to control the shaking in his voice but it just came out in little gasps.

 

“Yeah.” His face was red and his nose was dripping onto Fiddlefords t-shirt but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

 

“What are you doing, Fiddleford? What are you telling him? What a terrible person I am? How much I don’t love him? How amazing you are?” Carol stepped into the living room, her eyes burning with the promise of more impending destruction if he allowed himself to be pulled into her games.

 

“Are you crying? Christ. What kind of man are you?”

 

Fiddleford gave Tate one last squeeze before pressing a kiss to his face and standing to leave. Walking to the front door, he grabbed his keys and listened to the yelling from the hall. “ _Where the hell are you going? Yeah, just run away. Just like you to run and hide whenever things get hard. You’re such a weak bastard.’_ The worst part was that he knew it was true. He was weak. He was afraid. He could be walking down the street and have a panic attack from a bird flying too close or a car horn aimed in his direction. He climbed into his truck as these words floated in the air around his face. Everything she had said had been true, except for him being in the closet. She knew damn well he liked men when she met him almost six years ago and it wasn’t like he hated women. He just had preferences leading toward one particular sex. It’s not his fault if being married to her had only made that preference stronger. Tate deserved so much better. He had been trying to avoid a divorce because of the fact that he wanted Tate to have a mother in his life. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he already was missing one.

 

His mind was consumed with anger as he drove down to the only bar that he could stand to be in for more than five minutes. It was a little dive on the outskirts of town that was mostly only used by drug traffickers and the homeless. But it was quiet and lacking in the colored strobe lights that plagued the of the rest of the bars in town. He planned on getting drunk. Very drunk. He’d leave his truck there and get a taxi to take him home. He’d just sleep in his truck but he had promised his little June Bug that he’d be home and he couldn’t break his promise. He would never break a promise to him again.

  
  
  
  
  



	3. Stanley Pines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford meets an adorable, attractive drug dealer. It just so happens to be his old college roommate's twin brother, Stanley Pines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's shorter then I want but I'm kinda drunk and just want it up so I can start writing the angst and cute stuff. God, Fidds and Stan are adorable. Going to keep adding the tags as they happen. Next chapter is going to bump it up onto that explicit chart and there's going to be some pain, but I promise it will get better.

Fiddleford switched off the ignition to his old Ford and rested his head on the steering wheel, trying to scrape together the energy to open his door. His eyelids felt like sandpaper and a headache forming in his temple as he squinted at the old neon sign blinking monotonously at him.   _ ‘Jimmy and Bill’s bar and grill’ _  lighting the inside of his truck pink with every pulsing blink.  He sat up straight and let his head fall back onto the headrest. Moving was so much work. Why couldn’t he just have one of the bartenders come bring him a bottle of bourbon out to his truck. He wasn’t going to drive with it, he promised. Just drown himself in whiskey until feelings were nothing but a distant memory. The quiet desperation for a quick escape finally outweighed the effort of opening his door and he drug himself to the front of the bar, hands shoved deep into his pockets and his head facing the ground. He found a stool nearest to the end and waited with his head propped against his hand. 

 

“Good god. What the hell happened to you?” The bartender stepped back and tilted his head, concern and confusion evident on his face. It suddenly occurred to Fiddleford what he must look like. Dried blood on his lip and chin while his eyes were puffy and red and his hair was a tangled mess from pulling on it as he drove himself to the bar. He must look like a damn junkie. 

 

“Wife. S’ my fault. Can I getta’ bourbon? Straight and just-just don’t let the glass dry f’r awhile, huh?” His voice cracked and he felt horribly like the weak man his wife knew he was. The smell of cigarettes and stale beer was all that was grounding him and keeping him from running back to his house, regardless of what would happen if he went back before he had a chance to pull himself together. He could think in here. No one would bother him amongst the shady bikers playing pool or the dealers shuffling around the corners and night-walkers keeping station near the bathrooms. He was just another broken face in a sea of outcasts and lost souls. 

 

“She the one that gave you that busted lip? You don’t really look like the type to beat your old lady around.” The bartender glanced down at Fiddleford with a distance look of concern still hiding at the corners of his eyes. His raised eyebrow looked a lot more intimidating without any hair on the top of his head to offset it. Fiddleford looked him in the eyes. He would never hurt a woman. There wasn’t a single thing in the world worse than hitting your wife back home. Sure, it happened but whoever did it was ostracized and would never live a day without being known as the wife-beater. He’d had a cousin like that. The family wanted no part of him and he ultimately got arrested for burglary and no one had a mind to help him one bit.

 

“Ain’t no way in hell I’d ever hit my wife.” He took the tumbler of whiskey and drained it in one long pull. As it worked it’s way down into his stomach, the pain was everything he had hoped it would be. Wincing from the burning in his gut he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. He was going to regret this but there wasn’t any way he was going to be able to eat anything. His stomach lurched at the thought of solid food and yet he gestured at his glass. The bartender filled it once again and Fiddleford sipped his drink this time before setting it down and crossing his arms, laying his head down on the filthy counter. 

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why was this your fault?” He continued to busy himself with the other patrons and yet managed to keep his attention on Fiddleford. He thought to himself but it didn’t take much to get him to open up when he was drinking and without anything in his body he was already starting to feel the effects of that first two fingers of bourbon. Anyway’s, wasn’t listening to the drunks spill their sad life stories part of his job description? 

 

“Well, I reckon it wasn’t _ completely _ my fault. It’s my fault for bein’ so naive for so damned long. I got this little boy. He’s my world an’ the only reason I keep gettin’ up in the mornin’. His mama is a real piece a’ work, I tell ya. Don’t give a donkey’s behind bout’ nobody but herself.  She never wanted any kids but one too many drinks at a college frat party an’ there he was.” He paused for a moment to sling back the rest of his glass and wait for it to be filled once again. 

 

“So, you married her? How old is your son?” The traffic at the counter had slowed to a near stand still and the bartender was leaning his weight against the bar directly across from him. His eyes were strangely kind for a man with more tattoos that Carter’s got liver pills. Fiddleford felt relaxed under his gaze. 

 

“Yeah, I married her. Five year’s ago as soon as we found out. She didn’t even remember my name. Had to go round’ askin’ her friends who she went off with that night. Took em’ an entire week to figure out it was me. No one could believe that the nerdy little queer who left motor oil stains wherever he went could’a got anyone pregnant.” Fiddleford sighed and put his face down in his arms once more. “This isn’t how I imagined my life turnin’ out. I never thought anyone could be so bitter. She won’t do nothin’ with me. She used to. I mean, it was all fine. Then I made my money an’ she found a new love in spendin’ it. Busted my lip and hit every nerve she could reach in front of our son. I didn’t wanna get a divorce. Wanted to keep her in Tate’s life as long as I could, but after this-after this, I can’t…” His thoughts wandered as his head began to swirl. “I think I’m gonna’ walk around for a spell.” 

 

Fiddleford grabbed his tumbler and swung his legs around on the stool, scanning the bar for nothing in particular. His eyes found the jukebox in the darkest corner of the room partially hidden by a booth and the dim flickering light of an old neon ‘Schlitz’ sign. He hadn’t noticed the man sitting in the booth until he had gotten up to stick a dime in the box. The man had his jacket pulled near up to his ears but he could still make out a familiar set of eyes and square chin before he turned away from the light. His hair was a bit longer than he remembered but there was no doubt in his mind that that was Stanford Pines, his old college roommate. His heart leapt and his stomach flipped. He hadn’t seen anyone he considered a friend in years. Gosh he sure missed those times, staying up all night to finish a paper or just messing around together, throwing together machines and creating theories. He had no idea why he would have stayed in California but he sure as sin was going to find out. He turned back to the bar and reached out for the bartender. 

 

“Can I get one more a’ these? I see an old friend an’ I want to greet him properly.” He felt himself smile for the first time since he’d left the park that afternoon. Stanford Pines. He still was having a bit of trouble wrapping his head around it. Grasping the other drink in his hand, he headed to the back of the bar, excitement twisting in his chest.

 

“Stanford? Stanford Pi-” He stopped in his tracks as the man looked up through his shaggy brown hair and ripped jacket collar. That was most definitely NOT Stanford Pines. At least, it wasn’t the Stanford he knew. His face was the same apart from the tell-tale signs of a man who has not had a hot shower or anything to eat in a few days. Stubble was growing along his jaw-line and the dark rings around his eyes were from more than just a few nights of too little sleep. His hair was greasy and cut into one of those horrible mullets that people seemed to think looked good nowadays. Stanford Pines wouldn’t be caught dead looking like that. But he looked so much like him…

 

“What?” The man’s voice was harsh, gravelly, like he spent a lot of his time screaming and smoking way too much. The lite cigarette dangling from his hand confirmed at least one of his theories. His eyes were red and his lips looked dry and cracked. A smudge of dirt was evident under his right eye and it looked like he might have been in a fist fight recently. Variations of yellows and purples spotted his neck and face as bruises attempted to heal beneath fresher bruises. 

 

“I-I’m sorry. I thought you were…” Fiddleford couldn’t think. He felt his face heat at the embarrassment of confusing this man with someone he had lived with for nearly three years. Someone who at one point had considered him his best friend.  At the same time, he couldn’t look away from the man’s scarred face and his messy hair. The dark circles giving his face a look of hopelessness. It broke Fiddlefords heart just a bit more. 

 

“You know Stanford?” His eyes seemed to brighten as he sat up a bit straighter in his seat. Fiddleford blinked. So maybe he wasn’t insane. Maybe this was Stanford and he was just going through a rough patch. But how could he not remember him. 

 

“Umm, yeah? He was my roommate at Backupsmore. How do you know him?” Fiddleford swayed slightly and took a step forwards toward the table. 

 

“He, never told you about me?” The man sounded hurt. “He’s my twin brother.” 

 

We he was not expecting that. How could Ford never mention that he had a twin. And why was his twin brother almost certainly homeless. Ford wouldn’t just leave someone he cared about in the gutter. This was way too much to process right now. He could feel himself swaying again and he took a long pull from his glass. 

 

“Nope. He never did. Have you heard from him, recently?” He figured he might as well talk to the guy. He looked like he was one foot in the grave and the other in a drug den. 

 

“I haven’t talked to him in almost nine years. He kinda hates me.” He looked at the other glass in Fiddlefords hand. Fiddleford looked down at it, forgetting it was there and quickly holding it out to the dirty man. 

“Thanks.” He took it and sipped it slowly, letting the drink soak across his tongue before swallowing. 

 

“Ya’ll mind if I ask ya why?” He put his hand out and set it on the table. 

 

“Yeah, actually. Now if you’re not buying then move along, buddy. You’re keeping me from eating this week.” The long haired man looked up at him and Fiddleford couldn’t look away. His eyes were so dark and his face looked so, broken. He looked like Fiddleford felt. Hollowed out, hopeless and alone. Still, he looked as if one of his hands could break Fiddleford in half. He swallowed down the lump of fear in his throat and put his free hand on his hip in a lousy attempt at casualness. 

 

“Buyin’? What have ya’ got’ta sell?” He didn’t want to go. He wanted to sit down with this guy. Nothing in his alcohol induced thoughts could conjure up a reason for him to leave. He missed Ford more than he had since he parted ways from his old friend almost five years ago. This man in front of him wasn’t Ford, but he was a part of him. A part that right now looked like he may only be a hairline fracture away from shattering. He might not have spoken to Ford in nearly five years, but he was still the best friend he had ever had. What kind of a man would he be if he were to leave his (apparently disowned?) twin brother alone like this. Then again, maybe there was a reason Ford hadn't talked to him. Maybe he was a dangerous psychopathic murdering grifter. Fiddleford laughed internally at his thoughts. Maybe he’s the evil twin. 

 

“No offence, pal, but if you hung out with old Fordsy, I doubt you want any of what I got to sell.” He took another sip of his whisky and crossed his arms as Fiddleford sat down in the booth across from him. He was feeling giddy at the chance to let go of his inhibitions for one night and excited at the chance he was taking sitting down with this inherently dangerous man. He deserved it. Lord knows his wife was out doing much worse things on a daily basis. Wasn’t anything wrong with a little flirting. Even if it was with his old best friend’s homeless (and possibly incredibly dangerous) twin brother. 

 

“Oh yeah? I mean I ain’t into none of those chemical concoctions that everyone seems to be gettin’ into today. But if ya’ll got reefer, then ya’ got yerself a sale.” He wasn’t opposed to smoking a little weed every now and again. Hell, his paw didn’t have any pipe tobacco that wasn’t cut with a little herb. This seemed to get the man’s attention as he sat up a little straighter in the booth and twisted his face in the unexpected excitement at a sale. 

 

“Wow. Really? You want weed? Like, pot? Like the drug?” Fiddleford never thought he’d ever say that a drug dealer looked simply adorable, but my gosh did this man look cuter than a kitten on Christmas. Well, as cute as any man who smelled like the floor of a bar bathroom and looked just as clean could. He suppressed the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl at the filthy man’s slackjawed confusion.

 

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?” Fiddleford smiled and tilted his head, bring out as much sass as he could muster in a simple head motion. It was a talent he’d always possessed and he was proud as punch about it too.

 

“Yeah. Yes, I mean...I just wasn’t really expecting that coming from a pretty guy like you who hung around with nerds like Ford.”

 

“Pretty?” It wasn’t so much of a question as it was a confirmation that yes, he had indeed called him ‘pretty’. He was a southerner and was drinking straight sour mash from the age of fourteen and it took MUCH MORE than three glasses of bourbon to cause him to hallucinate. The dark haired man in front of him looked down at his glass, eyes widening and mouth working quickly.

 

“I mean, yeah. I guess, like your hair is nice and that shirt looks pretty cool. I mean, I can see how girls would think you’re pretty. I’m not like, you know. I mean I DON’T think you’re pretty. Not that I’m saying I think you’re unattractive! I just mean that-” Fiddleford couldn’t help but laugh at the poor man. He frowned and glared at the blonde across from him. “What the hell are you laughing at.” 

 

“Haha! I’m sorry, darlin’. Calm down. I understand. I know you weren’t hittin’ on me. And just so we’re even, you ain’t to hard on the eyes, yourself. Maybe could use a shower and some clean clothes but other than that, you’re mighty fine.” Fiddleford was never too shy about compliments.

 

“Oh.” And there was that adorable floundering look, again. “Um. Thanks.” 

 

“Any time, hon. Now about that sale you were interested in makin?” 

 

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to have to come to my car. Weed isn’t normally what people come to this bar to buy and I don’t bother bringing it in with me. I promise I’m not going to kill you, or anything.” He quirked a shy smile and eyed the table. He was pretty delicate for a man who looked like he could fight his way through an alligator pit and come out unscathed. Fiddleford felt as if he were looking at a basket full of new born bloodhounds. 

 

“I trust ya. Anyways. If you’re Ford’s brother than I ain’t got a thing to worry about. I’m sure that man has almost killed me more times than you could ever hope to.” He remembered those late night study sessions and even though they were the most fun he’s ever had in his life, he’d been dehydrated, sleep deprived and electrocuted more times than he could count on both his and Ford’s hands combined. 

 

“Yeah. He always was in idiot. Not an ounce of common sense in his genius head.” The man stood, motioning to the door and Fiddleford followed. 

 

“Oh, hey.” Fiddleford stopped as the man held a dirty hand out to him. “My name is Stan, by the way. Stanley Pines.” 

 

Stanley Pines. Parents weren’t too creative in the names department. Still, it was a nice name. Fiddleford held his hand out, grasping Stans and shaking it smoothly. 

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Stanley. My name’s Fiddleford. Fiddleford Mcgucket.” 

 

“Fiddleford McGucket? That sounds familiar. Why does that sound familiar?” Fiddleford didn’t really like talking about his business. He actually tried to stay as far away from it as possible, dealing with everything he could over the phone and doing his inventing in his own home lab/garage. ‘McGucket Labs’ better be capable of running things without him breathing down their necks. He damn well paid them enough. He just shrugged his shoulders and watched the man smile in the dim light of the bar. 

 

“Ah well. After you?” Stan held the splintered door open and bowed as Fiddleford walked through. 

 

“Why, thank you. Such a gentleman.” Why hadn’t Ford told him he had an extremely attractive, charming twin brother? Stan smiled and guided Fiddleford to his beat up, red 1965 El Diablo convertible. 

 

“This is it! The Stanmobile! Ain’t she a beauty?” He kicked the tire and listened to the reverberating sound of the rim against the worn rubber. “She’s my one and only. Never leaves me. Never get’s jealous and doesn’t call the cops when I want to get inside of her.” Fiddleford choked on his laughter. This guy was something else and he was loving every second of it. 


	4. Weed and Wishful Thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They smoke some pot and Stan is a bumbling idiot when it comes to his emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally lied to you guys. Good stuff is coming NEXT chapter, I promise for real this time. 
> 
> Triggers for Stan being a damn Heroin addict

“So how much do I owe ya’?” Fiddleford held the little sandwich bag in his hand.

“Well, it’s like an ounce so thirty should do it.” Stan shifted on his feet as he eyed the smaller man. He could have told him more. He  _ should _ have told him more. This guy didn’t look like he knew the going street price of a bag of apples let alone a bag of grass. 

“Ah, well. This feels like it might be a little more than an ounce. Why don’t I give ya’ fifty? Just so I don’t feel like I’m cheating ya’.” Fiddleford wanted to see the dirty man smile again. It was just so gosh darned cute. He knew damn well that this dirt weed wasn’t worth more than twenty-five bucks but he wasn’t going to miss a few dollars. A yellowing bruise shifted as a wide grin grew on Stan’s face. Fiddleford could feel his chest tighten. It was like he was in grade school again and the pretty girl with the blonde pigtails kept sharing her animal crackers with him, while at the same time giving him the same feeling the hot ass football captain did when he accidentally brushed up against him in the locker room shower. 

 

“Well, hey man. What ever helps you sleep at night.” Stan couldn’t look Fiddleford in the eyes. It wasn’t bad in the dark light of the bar, but out here under the bright street lights...Fuck. They’re so blue, maybe? And bright and his skin was like, flawless and looked so soft. He wanted to touch it. Jesus he was being creepy. He just wanted to get away and go back into the bar, hopefully find some poor smack head he could dump his wares on. He needed to get rid of it before he used all of the damn shit himself. Everyday the little syringes in his glove-box got a little fuller and a little more frequent. He was starting to lose time and he had to focus on breathing normally. It was hot as fuck outside and he couldn’t take this damn jacket off without everyone and their mother seeing the fucking track marks up his arms. He was fucking pathetic. 

 

Stan risked a glance up at the smiling man. Oh my god, he had dimples. He felt his stomach constrict and it wasn’t from the lack of food or withdrawal nausea. It was how he felt when he used to watch Carla dance with him. Watching something so beautiful looking at him with something other than complete disdain. He didn’t deserve to be looked at like anything other than the pile of human garbage that he was. Who did this guy think he was? Looking up at him like he was the last piece of pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving. He cleared his throat, turning back toward the direction of the bar. 

 

“Well, I’ll see ya’ around. If you hear from Ford, will you tell him ‘Hey’ for me?” His stomach twisted as he watched Fiddleford’s smile fade. 

 

“Don’t ya’ wanna’ help me burn through some’a this? I ain’t gonna be able to go through it all myself for months. Might as well share it with someone I could at least call an acquaintance. B’sides, your brother refused to touch the stuff in college an’ I always wanted to see what he looked like higher than a kite in a tornado.”  Stan smiled despite himself. Hey, he wasn’t one to give up the chance to get high for free. Plus this guy was pretty cool for a nerd. His mouth was fucking gorgeous. He wondered what it looked like blowing little puffs of smoke through that blinding smile. He needed to stop thinking this shit right fucking now. The guy has a god damn wedding ring on.

 

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’m not going to say no to a good time.” Fiddleford’s smile returned full force as he clasped his hands together around the baggie and hopped up and down like one of his excited little kindergartners. He hummed happily as he did and Stan could feel his face heating up. Was this guy for real? 

 

“You’re- you’re kinda weird, aren’t you?” Stan turned away quickly, retreating to the safety of his car door as he rummaged through old take out wrappers for his old, tar stained pipe. 

 

“I reckon I am. They say ya’ can’t be a genius without bein’ just a little bit crazy.”  Fiddleford leant against the side of the ‘Stanmobile’ and took a deep breath of the warm breeze blowing through his hair. He still couldn’t get the words Carol had shouted at him out of his mind.  _ ‘ _ _ You’re immature and scared of every little thing that you can’t solve with a math problem.’  _  He tongued the cut on his bottom lip, the taste of coppery blood still remnant as he reopened the wound. His face must have shown his distress because Stan had placed a large hand on his shoulder. 

 

“You doing ok there, Fidds? Is it ok if I call you ‘Fidds’? Fiddleford is a bit of a mouthful and I’m not always too good with my words.” He removed his hand and went to work packing the small pipe on his car hood, glancing at Fiddleford over his shoulder. Genius, huh? 

 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I don’t have a problem with it. Kinda nice to have someone callin’ me somethin’ other than ‘Mr. McGucket’, ‘pa’ or ‘fucking hillbilly’. Stan laughed at this. 

 

“Haha. Fucking hillbilly. I didn’t want to say anything, but where the hell are you from, anyways?” Stan finished with his pipe and dug through his pocket for a lighter and handing both the pipe and light to Fiddleford. “Ladies first.” He looked at the smaller man through heavy lidded eyes. He didn’t want to flirt with the guy, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. He was wearing that ring. Didn’t all of your sexual radar like, turn off after you get married? 

 

Fiddleford sneered mockingly at him and stuck out his tongue. “Ya’ll are just jealous cause’ I know how to use soap.” He purposely drug his finger across the back of Stan’s hand as he reached for the pipe, feeling the bigger man recoil at the touch. 

 

It was like he had been shocked with a cattle prod. Fidds just basically pet his hand and he knew DAMN WELL that that wasn’t an accident. Whatever. He’s got weed and in a few minutes both of them will be too blasted to process anything anyways. He watched Fiddleford light the pipe and close his eyes as he took in a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds before exhaling softly. Stan had a clear view of his long, pale neck as he laid his head back on the side of the car. Fiddleford handed him the pipe and stared up at the stars. 

 

“Tennessee. Miss it like all hell, too.” His voice was soft and solemn, a complete contrast to the cheerful tone he had less than five minutes prior. Stan took a deep breath of the smoke and leaned against the car next to Fiddleford, passing the pipe back and forth as they spoke. 

 

“I know what it’s like to have to start over with nothing. No one. Sucks ass, huh?” Stan smiled grimly at the blonde. 

 

“Sure does.” He was starting to feel a bit of a chill as the wind cooled down with the night. He shivered and rubbed at his bare arms. Stan moved closer and pressed his body against the thin man’s side. 

 

“Want my jacket? I’m wearing two. It’s kinda gross, but at least you won’t freeze.”  He set the pipe on the roof of the car already pulling down the zipper.

 

“Yeah. I think I might. Ev’n though it ain’t gonna get below 60 degrees.” Stan shrugged out of the jacket and held it out, not realizing that he was intending on helping the other put it on until he was pulling it over his thin shoulders. He ran a hand down his back, feigning smoothing out the wrinkles and Fidds couldn’t help but lean into the touch. Stan’s hands were so warm and they almost covered from shoulder blade to shoulder blade they were so big. He heard himself sigh in contentment before moving just that much closer to the dirty man. This was pretty nice. Not at all what he was expecting his night to be like but he might have made a friend. A friend who was actually his best friend’s brother. His attractive best friend’s twin brother who for all he tried hiding it, was seriously flirting with him.  Of all of the coincidences that he has face in his life, this might be the biggest and most satisfying to date. 

 

“So what are ya’ doin’ out here in California?” Fiddleford turned to Stan, reaching out a hand to take the pipe. 

 

“Uhh, you know. Trying to survive. Looking at hot babes and dumb yuppies. Plus I’m not banned from this state... _ yet. _ Why are you here?” 

 

“Work.” Fiddleford exhaled slowly and Stan couldn’t help but stare at the way the smoke billowed from his lips and nose. 

 

“Just work?”

 

“Yeah. I’m gettin’ kinda hungry. You wanna go get some food? My treat?” He still hadn’t eaten and the weed was making this very apparent. He didn’t care if Stan went with him or not but he needed a hamburger. Like, now. 

 

“Holy shit. Yes.” Stan pushed himself away from the car, every thought he had in the last ten minutes disappearing at the suggestion of free food. “Where do you want to go?” 

 

“Hmm. Ain’t too many McDonald’s around here, is there?” Fiddleford started making his way toward his truck. “I’ll drive. Your car looks a little, full.” Stan followed the blonde to his old Ford, slightly confused when he followed Stan around to the passenger side. Fiddleford pushed his way past Stan and grabbed the door handle, pulling it open and backing away. 

 

“Uhh, am I driving?” Stan’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

 

“No, darlin. You’re gettin’ in the damn truck.” Stan’s feet were frozen in place as he processed what was going on. This dude was seriously holding the door for him. This couldn’t be real. No wonder he was married. He slid into the passenger seat and stared at Fiddleford’s corny gesture. He knew he had to look like an idiot but no one has EVER done that for him. He felt himself smiling as Fiddleford climbed into the truck and turn the key. 

 

“So, I know of a place a few minutes away near a little park I used to take my little one to. It’s open all night and has the best dang chili fries I’ve ever had.” He threw his arm around the back of Stan’s shoulder as he turned his head to back out. It was probably unnecessary but he was starting to really like that look of defeat that appeared in the other’s eyes when he thought he was going to get away being cuter than a button without some (not so negative) consequences. Fiddleford let his fingers dance along the hair on Stan’s neck who tensed as soon as he felt the first brush of calloused finger-tips. 

 

“You alright, Stan? I can stop if you want me to.” Fiddleford wasn’t sure what he was doing anyways. Being a damned weirdo is what he was doing but his inhibitions were in fact gone and he hadn’t been around someone he could even pretend to relate to in years. Maybe Stan  _ wasn’t _ flirting with him and he was ruining a potential friendship. Fiddleford jerked his hand away. And panicked slightly at the horrified expression on Stan’s face. 

 

“Aw, banjo polish. Stanley, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doin’. I’m just a little hazy and you’re right cute and I sorta lost myself there for a minute-”

 

“No! I mean, it’s fine. I’m not like, upset. Just...I don’t know. I’m not used to it, is all.” Stan didn’t want to ask but he had to. He wasn’t sure what was going on and he didn’t want to make an ass of himself. Right cute? His cheeks heated as he cleared his throat. “Hey, um...Fidds?”

 

“Yeah?” You really did it this time, Fiddleford. Good job. He’s gonna ask you to drop him off on the next corner and never talk to him again. 

 

“Are you, trying to come onto me? Like, are you...ahh, you know…” Stan looked away from Fiddleford and out the truck window, his face burning and stomach twisting. He didn’t want to piss this guy off if he wasn’t coming onto him and Stan was just doing some wishful thinking. He was wearing a fucking WEDDING RING. It’s not like he couldn’t play it off. He was a professional con-man but this guy was, different. He knew Ford. Ford was his best friend and he was really nice and funny and smart. Not to mention hotter than hell.  

 

Fiddleford stared ahead of him at the dark road. “Am I  _ gay _ ?” He drug the word out slightly, trying to figure out how he should answer. He did still like girls. Just, very rarely and under pretty specific circumstances. 

 

Stan coughed. “Um, yeah.”

 

He hadn’t gotten this far playing it safe. Might as well go for it. “Yes, Stan. I am. Is that ok?” 

 

Relief rushed over Stan as he placed one of his heavy hands on Fiddleford’s and pulled it gently to his mouth. Honestly he didn't even really know this guy but hell, might as well jump into this full force. He placed a soft kiss to the back of the engineer’s hand, smiling at the quick change in roles as Fiddleford blushed and swallowed a cough of surprise. “Yeah. It’s ok.”

 

“So, I take it I ain’t the only one thinkin’ bout’ pickin’ wildflowers.” Fidds placed his hand on Stan’s leg as they pulled into the drive of the little burger joint. he wasn't exactly sure how they had ended up here. They had just meet maybe three hours ago and now they were getting dinner together. He should really go home.

 

“There is nothing about that that I understand.” Stan smiled a warm smile up at Fiddleford as he opened the truck door, giddy with the anticipation of a hot meal and an even hotter dinner date.   

  
  



	5. Text Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford and Stan decide on what they want to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go. I am a selfish bitch and I'm writing this story so I can read it myself but I guess you guys can have it too. ;) The ending of this chapter is going to start all of the explicit bs and it's only going to get better...well and worse, kids.
> 
> *EDIT* So...rereading this I noticed I wrote that Tate had a 'Frozen' hand towel. Well, since Frozen didn't exist in the damn 80's it has been change.

Stan and Fiddleford walked together up to the window of the little restaurant, lite by a few blinding floodlights. It was more like a snack bar then a place that sold regular food. You walked up to the counter and ordered from outside, waiting for your food to be slide out of a slot on the other. They didn’t serve anything that wasn’t guaranteed to clog your arteries or your money back. It wasn’t something Fiddleford particularly enjoyed but right now he wanted nothing more than to shove canned cheese covered fried food into his face. Stan seemed to have the same mindset, shifting on the balls of his feet as he stared up at the menu posted on the wall above the counter window. 

 

“I have no idea what I want, Fidds. Holy Moses.” Stan’s stomach gurgled as the smell of food wafted out from the window and he moved to stand behind Fiddleford who himself was staring upwards.  

 

“I’ll order for ya’. Is there anythin’ you don’t like? Or anythin’ you see that you want?” Fiddleford turned around and ran face first into Stan’s broad chest. 

 

“Ohfff!”

 

“Fidds!” Stan giggled as he wrapped his arms around the smaller man, keeping him from toppling over. “If you wanted a hug, you just had to ask.” 

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Stan. I wasn’t expectin’ ya’ to be that close to me, there. I, uhh...so is there anythin’ that is jumpin’ out to ya’?”  Fiddleford’s voice cracked as Stan continued to hold him loosely. His eyes drifted over the blonde’s face, distant and the hint of a smile on his lips. He could see his eyes clearly now, twinkling in the light from the floodlights. They weren’t blue. Well they were, but they were gold too. The outside was almost grey it was such a pale blue but there was a ring of gold around his pupil. It was like a bullseye. Specks of gold were scattered around the pale blue of his eye. Stan had never seen anything like it before. He realized he was staring and blinked before looking away. 

 

“What?” Fiddleford smiled as he tried to pull away but Stan refused to remove his hands from his narrow hips. 

 

“It’s just...your eyes. They’re so, pretty. Like, they’re not blue but they’re not green or gold. They’re like, rainbows. What color do you call that?”

 

“Haha. My gracious, how could Ford never tell me about you.” He stepped back and turned to the counter again, freeing himself from Stan’s hold. “I don’t call it anythin’. My drivers license says ‘Hazel’ but I actually got what’s called central heterochromia. It’s when your eyes are more than one color. Like when a dog has one blue eye and one brown eye, cept’ the colors show up in both eyes at the same time. Your brother liked it. Said we were both anomalies even though mine is a bit more common than Mr. Six-fingers.” 

 

“Oh, wow. That’s pretty cool. They’re fucking sweet. I want to look at them some more.” Stan pulled Fiddleford back towards him but his hips and turned him around, leaning down, his own face hovering only inches from Fiddleford’s. Stan was looking down at the smaller man with a genuine look of happiness. At least that’s what Fiddleford hoped it was as the brunette bent down and rested his forehead against his own, leaning in until their noses brushed. Fiddleford’s body froze in place and his breathing became uneven. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears as his heart struggled to keep up with the way his pulse had quickened and his stomach was clenching in on itself. He couldn’t tell if it was fear, excitement or something new altogether. He didn’t have to worry about it for long before he jumped, hearing someone clearing their throat from behind him.

 

The pair quickly jumped away from each other and turned in the direction of the sound. “I don’t care if you two are going to make out in front of the store but my boss totally will.” A young girl with black hair streaked with bright blue stood behind the counter, stained apron covering her front.  

 

“Oh, no! We weren’t goin’ to-” Fiddleford was cut off before he could finish.

 

“Oh, we totally were. Thank’s sweet cheeks. Maybe I’ll have to make out with both of you now. You know, as punishment. Since you kinda ruined the attempt at romance I was putting out here. I just met this guy and I’m already being cock-blocked. Not cool, uhh...Amber.” Stan took Fiddleford’s small hand into his own and walked to the counter to read the girl’s name-tag. Fiddleford’s face immediately turned a dark shade of red but grasp Stan’s hand regardless.  

 

“You’re taking him to this dump as a first date? Wait a minute. Are you  _ high? _ Your eyes are totally red, dude. Oh my god! So are the cute ones!” She laughed for a second but immediately stopped as a thought hit her. “You got any left? Food’s on me if you do. My boss actually left for the night. I just didn’t want to watch another gross display of affection. I get enough of that at school.” 

 

Fiddleford dug in his pants pocket for the remaining bag of pot, tossing it onto the counter. “Here ya’ go, darlin’. S’all yours.” He was still clutching Stan’s hand who had started to rub his fingers along his palm. He was thinking about skipping the food and just heading home. He really shouldn’t be doing this. But it felt so nice having someone hold his hand that wasn’t five. He found his mind drifting to other places he wanted that hand and quickly stopped himself. 

 

“Sweet. Now what can I get you?” She grabbed the bag and tucked it in her apron pocket. 

 

“Hmm. Chili fries for sure. Large an’ two cheese burgers. OH! An’ onion rings. Large as well. An’ two shakes. One strawberry and the other-” He looked up at Stan who seemed lost staring down at his hair. “Stanley?”

 

“Oh, um. Chocolate. Thanks.” He let go of Fiddleford’s hand only to shove it into the back pocket of the engineers jeans. Fiddleford jumped at the unexpected hand and pulled away from Stan, giving him an unimpressed look as the girl laughed again. 

 

“Holy shit, you two are going to be the cutest couple ever.”

 

_ Couple?  _ Stan hadn’t thought about them being a couple. Fiddleford was married and had a kid. But at the same time he couldn’t picture this being a one night fling. He felt so, weird around this guy and like he told that fry cook chick, he’d just met him. He didn't want to fuck him. Well, it wouldn’t suck but he wanted to like, kiss him and hold him and take him to the movies and gross romance movie shit. Ford was right, he was a hopeless romantic. He pushed the thought away as Fiddleford grabbed for his hand again and lead him to a picnic table under a flood light. 

 

_ Couple? _ Like, together. Like as his,  _ boyfriend? _ He could leave his wife. Hell, after tonight he was planning on it anyways. Stan looked terrified. He had gone pale and his hand loosened it’s grip on his. Ok, so being a couple was off the table. But god almighty did he want to hold that hard body against his. Pull him into bed and kiss his chest and that gorgeous jawline and bite those ears and...fuck. He shifted as he felt a familiar stirring in his jeans. He needed to go sit down. 

 

“So. You said you’re here for work. What is it that you do, exactly?” Stan sat across from Fidds at the wooden picnic table.  

 

“Eh.” Fiddleford shrugged his shoulders. “Imma mechanical engineer and entrepreneur.”

 

“Woah. That's pretty sweet. I guess I was a bit of an entrepreneur myself for a while. Didn't do so hot. Got kicked out of a pretty good number of states. That's how I ended up here. So, have you made anything yet? Or are you out here seeking your fortune.” Stan propped his elbows on the table and held his face in his hands. 

 

“Ah, well. Yeah I did a few little things. Nothin’ really too excitin’.” Fiddleford stood to go grab their food from the counter. “One sec.”

 

He brought the tray back and blushed when Stan stood as he approached. “ I don’t have a chair to pull out for you or I would.”

 

“Lord almighty. Sit down an’ eat your food.” Stan decided that making this guy blush was his new favorite hobby. Stan quickly swiped a finger through a glob of cheese dripping down the side of a paper tray. He went to lick it off but decided on something better. Jumping up he quickly leaned over the table and dabbed it on the tip off Fiddleford’s nose. He sat back down and watched in delight at the surprised look on the man across from him. Fiddleford stared at Stan, watching the look that both feared revenge and prided in his work. He couldn’t help but drop the frown and laugh. 

 

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Fiddleford wiped the cheese from his nose with the back of his hand and was about to wipe it on his jeans when he decided a little revenge probably was in order. He froze and looked into Stan’s eyes. Bringing the back of his hand to his mouth he closed his eyes and ran his tongue along the smear of cheese, opening them partway. Stan watched open mouthed as Fiddleford closed his mouth along the wet spot and looked back up. In reality it was pretty gross. He hadn’t washed his hands pretty much all day and god only knows what Stan had on his but the look on Stan’s face pushed all of that out of his mind. 

 

“Fuck, man. You’re kind of a slut.” Stan watched as Fiddleford laughed and wiped his hand on the side of his leg. 

 

“Unfortunately not. If I was, I wouldn’t get harder than a diamond in an ice storm from someone huggin’ me in the office of an elementary school.” He took a bite of his burger and looked straight faced at the look of disgust on the brunettes face. 

 

“That’s pretty creepy, Fidds.” 

 

“It wasn’t a kid!” Fiddleford thought about how that probably sounded and rolled his eyes.

 

“Ok, less creepy. But still pretty creepy.” Stan seemed to have eaten his hamburger in no more than four bites. Fiddleford looked at his own and knew damn well he wasn’t going to eat all of it plus fries and his shake. He handed it over the table to the bigger man and shook it slightly when Stan looked at him in confusion.

 

“Eat it. I ain’t gonna finish it.”

 

“You sure? I mean, I don’t want to-”

 

“Just take the dang burger.” 

 

“Fine.” Stan secretly thanked whatever god was out there. It had been at least two days since he had eaten anything solid and even though he knew it wasn’t the smartest idea to eat this much after that, the feeling of something filling his stomach was almost as good as that needle pushing itself into his arm. Well,at least the way it used to. 

 

It was only a few months ago the first time he felt the drug pulsing it’s way through his body. It was somewhere near Pittsburgh and he was pretty close to fucking ending it all. That was when he had met Diane. She was probably beautiful before she had fallen into the same horrible trap he would soon find. She was living in a motel and Stan had been living in his car in the parking lot. She had seen him getting in and out for several days, never actually seeing the car move and approached him one day with a Styrofoam cup of coffee from the crusted over coffee pot in the office of the motel. He took it and she offered to share her room. That was the night he first tasted life. He felt like God himself were holding him in his arms. Light was more than light and he could feel the earth radiating love only for him. He remembered walking out in the moonlight and hearing the stars calling him. Telling him he was beautiful. He had never felt that way since. He had definitely tried, using more and more frequently but now it just helped him when he was too wired up to fall asleep. He felt nauseous if he didn’t use at least once every couple days and he couldn’t afford to use more than he could sell. He met a few dealers here in California and they really didn’t take too kindly to him. He tried cooking meth once in the bathroom of a shitty motel in Texas but ended up burning down have the room and booking it out of the state before anyone could find him. Now he resorted to robbing whom ever he could and investing everything into adding to his stash and moving around, selling what and where he could. He hated himself. 

 

“Hey, Stanley? You alright?” Stan had zoned out, staring blankly past Fiddleford’s head to the playground beyond the tree line. 

 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just thinking about something.” He shoved the last of his food into his mouth and smiled at Fiddleford trying his best to push the memories away for now. Just for tonight he could pretend he was ok. It must have worked because the smaller man smiled and pat his hand. He stood to clear away the garbage but Stan jumped up and grabbed everything before he had a chance. 

 

“I don’t think so. I got it. I’m the man, here.” San winked and jogged away with the trash before Fiddleford had a chance to hit him. He got to the trash can and stared back to the playground. God he didn’t want to leave yet. He knew what was waiting for him back at his car. Just that. His car. No one in it. Just him, a .38 pistol, a lone bullet and about 300mg hidden under his passenger seat. He glanced back at the thin man who had perched himself on top of the picnic table and was kicking his legs back and forth like a little kid. Sweet fuck, he was adorable. He didn’t know how he was going to keep that from him. Fuck, he would tell Ford and then Ford would definitely never speak to him again. Dammit why couldn’t he just shut his brain up for a few hours. 

 

“Hey! Want me to push you on the swing?” Stan meant it to sound like a joke but Fiddleford’s face lite up and he jumped off of the table. 

 

“Yeah! Come on!” He ran into Stan and grabbed his wrist. Swinging? He hadn’t got to swing himself in ages. He was always pushing Tate and making sure he stayed on the swing. This guy was offering to push him. He had to stop getting more and more perfect before he took him home and destroyed his household. 

 

He was expecting Fidds say ‘yes’ but he wasn’t expecting him to be so excited about it. He laughed when he was literally drug off to the playground by a twenty something year old man. Fiddleford hopped onto the nearest swing and grabbed the chains. Stan approached his back and wrapped his arms around the engineer’s  waist. He felt his body tense as he leaned in and put his chin on Fidd’s shoulder. 

 

“Umm-hey, there.” Fiddleford’s breath caught in his throat as warm arms wrapped themselves around his middle and large hands rested on his chest. He didn’t realize he was leaning back into the body pressed to his back until he felt the zipper of Stan’s jacket pressing into his neck. 

 

“Hey.” He gently pressed  kiss to the side of Fidd’s pale neck. He felt the smaller man shiver, smiling to himself. “You cold, still?” 

 

“N-nope. Just push me, why don’tcha?” His voice was strained and he discreetly pushed the heel of his palm against himself, willing his body to hold it’s composure. Despite his intent Stan saw and smiled to himself once again. 

 

“You got it, Ace.”

 

“Ace?”

 

“Yeah? You got a problem with that?”

 

“No. Just wonderin’ why you’d call me that.” Ford had called him ‘Ace’. Told him that it meant he was magnificent, masterly, first-class and a bunch of other words that were way more than he deserved. He wondered if Stan knew the meaning or if it was just something that rubbed off on him from his twin. 

 

“Because it’s what you are. Ace. You know. Wonderful, fantastic…” He thought for a second before saying the last one. “Fabulous.” 

 

Fiddleford laughed sarcastically. “You must be blinder’n a bat in sunlight to think that.”

 

Stan hugged him a bit closer shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe. But I don’t think so.” He let go and stepped back, grasping the bottom of the swing and giving it a hard shove and watching the blonde kick his legs out and let out a hoot. 

 

“Keep pushin’!” He laughed as the wind blew through this hair and stung his eyes. Stan gave him another shove as he came back down. One more and he was stopping. He was going to end up pushing him off the damn swing. 

 

“Why’d ya stop?” Fiddleford’s voice traveled on the wind as he swung. 

 

“You’re high enough! Kick your legs. I know you can. I’ve watched you doing it.” 

 

“Doesn’t mean I wanna!” 

 

“Too bad. You’re up there and I’m down here. Not much you can do about it.” Fiddleford drug his feet on the wood chips as he came down the next time, drastically slowing his speed. 

 

“Oh, shit.” Stan took off running in the direction of the trees, laughing as he watched Fiddleford jump off and take off after him. 

 

“Wrong answer, Pines!” Stan saw a tree blocking his exit as Fiddleford quickly closed in on him. And he backed up against the tree, preparing to be tackled to the ground. He was wrong.  Fiddleford ran straight into Stan, pinning him to the tree. 

 

“I wanted ya’ to push me.” His nose was only inches from Stan’s face and his heart was pounding in his chest. He needed to leave. He needed to step back and go to the truck, drop Stan back off at his car and go home to his son. He moved closer to the brunette, noses brushing. 

 

“I did.” Stan’s voice was no more than a whisper, his own breathing growing rapid.  _ Please don’t walk away. _

 

“Yeah.” Fiddleford moved just a little closer, his lips ghosting over Stan’s. “I really wanna kiss you.” His breathing was heavy and he could feel Stan shifting beneath him, trying to get closer. 

 

“It’s ok. I mean, I don’t mind.”

 

“Are you sure?” Fiddleford brushed his top lip against Stan’s.

 

“Please.” He wanted him to so fucking bad. He body felt like it was on fire and he was trying so hard not to shake. Not to pull wrap his arms around his tiny body and drag him to the ground and push him into the dirt and-

  
  


“Ah, fuck.” His thoughts were silenced by soft lips pressing against his mouth. He couldn’t move. It was almost like his lips had been coated with some kind of paralyzing element. His mind drifted quickly to that story they made him read in high school where the dude killed himself from drinking poison and then his wife killed herself by kissing the poison out of his mouth. It wasn’t rushed or hard or anything but a soft press of a warm mouth and nothing else. Fiddleford broke the kiss and rubbed his head on Stan’s shoulder. He rubbed his cheek against the soft blonde hair tickling his neck. 

 

“I think I might have a bit of a crush on ya’, Stan.” Fiddleford pushed himself as close to the hard warm body under him as he could, shifting his hips cautiously trying to relieve some of the pressure in his jeans without scaring Stan away with just how much that simple press of lips affected him. Of course it wasn’t going to happen. Stan pressed his leg harder into the crotch of Fiddleford’s  pants and sighed at the soft moan that fell from the smaller man’s lips as he unabashedly ground his erection into Stan’s thigh. 

 

“I’m sorry, Stanley.” He whined when Stan brought a hand down between them and pressed it firmly against the bulge, massaging it just hard enough to produce another moan from Fidds just a little louder this time. The sounds were going straight to his cock and grabbed Fiddleford’s hand, guiding it to his pants zipper and pulling his mouth back up to his own. The kiss was nothing like the gentle one of before. It was harsh and wet, both fighting for dominance as they pressed and rubbed against each other. Fiddleford had a split second of lucidity and thought about what he was doing. He wanted it so bad. He wanted to push Stan down by his head and fuck his mouth. He wanted to stick his hand down the front of his pants and hear the sounds Stan made when he came. What his face looked like. What he tasted like. 

 

“Stan-” He tried pulling away but failed. 

 

“Stan wait-” He pulled away a bit harder. Stan stopped what he was doing immediately. Fear gripped his body preparing for the inevitable. He knew this was way too good to be true. His heart sank when Fiddleford pulled away and frowned at the ground as he adjusted himself in his pants. 

 

“I can’t do this.” His voice was low, hardly audible. He looked up at Stan’s broken expression and softly folded his hands around his strong jaw, thumbs stroking down the stubble that resided there. “I can’t do this, right now. I don’t mean never.” He leaned in and placed another soft kiss to Stan’s lips. It helped, but not much. 

 

“I understand. You have no idea who I am.” Stan tried to step away from Fiddleford but was stopped by an arm around his waist. 

 

“No, not really. But I’d like to know. It’s just…” He trailed off looking down at Stan’s neck. He resisted the urge to lean in and bite it. To forget he had said anything and feel those strong arms hold him up against a tree and STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. 

 

“It’s cool, man. I know. You’re married and you miss Ford.” Stan wanted to crawl in a hole. He was so embarrassed and hurt and he was madder than hell at himself for thinking this was anything but a nice night out. It wasn’t like this guy went out with the intention of finding a boyfriend. He had just coincidentally ran into his best friend’s twin brother. He probably just missed him and that’s why he even contemplated leaving that bar with him. He was a familiar face in a crowd of strangers. He knew too well what it was like to have no one. 

 

“Yeah. I’m married. But as soon as I get up tomorrow I’m callin’ my lawyer and havin’ the papers drawn up. I ain’t sayin’ that you gotta or anythin’ but if you still want to, you know. I will too. I really like you, Stanley and it ain’t just because of your brother. I never once wanted to throw your brother on the ground and listen to the sounds he made when I blew him into next year. Or sit with him an’ stare up at the stars without cataloging every shift in a constellation. I just, I can’t cheat no matter how fake our marriage is.”

 

“Are you saying you want to date me, Ace?” He tilted his head, hoping for at least another kiss. He was happily granted his wish and smiled weakly. 

 

“If that’s alright.” Fiddleford looked to the side, somehow embarrassed even after he was damn near dry humping the man’s leg. Stan didn’t have to think about it but he wanted to pretend. He didn’t want to seem desperate, but he was. He wanted someone to hold at night and tell him it was going to be fine. Someone to help him stop. 

 

“Yeah. Are you sure?” He couldn’t get his hopes up only to have them broken again. 

 

“I’ve never been more sure.” Fiddleford allowed them one last slow kiss before breaking apart and grabbing Stan’s hand. 

 

“You better be fucking spectacular in bed.” Stan faked irritation as Fidds lead them to the truck. 

 

“Honey, you have no idea.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Fiddleford pulled into the parking lot of the bar. There were still a few cars parked out front since there wasn’t much else for anyone to do on a Friday night when you didn’t want to be out at a club. 

 

“Here ya’ are. Where are you stayin’ at?” Fiddleford put the truck in park next to the ‘Stanmobile’ turning in his seat to face the other man. 

 

He hadn’t thought about what he would tell Fiddleford if he asked mostly because he hadn’t assumed he would ask. He didn’t really expect to end up basically dating the guy after only six hours. He had about a hundred bucks after the fifty Fidds had given him for the weed. That could get him three nights in the gross crack motel up the road. 

 

“Just, you know. A motel for now.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked out the window. Stan knew Fidds could tell he was lying. 

 

“You, um...you can stay with me if you want. We have plenty of room. Wife wouldn’t even know.” 

 

“No. No way I’m risking this beautiful face to a crazy wife with finger nails.” 

 

Fiddleford giggled and gripped the steering wheel, a frown clearly trying to break through his smile. Stan leaned over and placed a hand over the white knuckles. 

 

“Hey, man. It’s cool. Just get those papers filled out and I will be all yours. I’m not going anywhere. And if I do, you can tell Ford where I am and he’ll undoubtedly come find me and kick the shit out of me for making someone he cared about cry.” 

 

Fiddleford smiled and agreed, watching Stan open the door to and climb out. A thought occurred to him just before he had a chance to close the door. 

 

“Wait! I have something for you.” He opened the glove box and pulled out the extra cell phone he kept in there for emergencies. “Here. Let me show you how it works.”

 

“What the hell is that?” Stan held the little device in his hand looking it over as if it were something from another dimension.

 

“It’s a cellphone, just better cause’ I made it. Here. You use it just like a regular one except you can send messages and pictures.”

 

“What the fuck…”

 

Fiddleford spent the next twenty minutes explaining how to use the phone and making Stan send him messages and pictures until he could do it without help. “There. Now there are two numbers in it right now. Mine and my son’s. For the love of all that is holy don’t message my son’s unless it’s an emergency and you can’t reach me. Other than that you can add whoever you want.” 

 

“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

 

“Thanks. Here’s your jacket.” Fidds blushed and Stan winked as he pointed a little finger gun at him. “Oh, wait. You need this to charge it. Just put this end into the phone here and the other end into the wall.” 

 

“Got it. Now go home.” Stan leaned over the seat and grabbed Fiddleford’s head in his hands pulling him in for a bruising kiss.

 

“You little hellion.” Fiddleford smiled as Stan shut the door. He watched in the rear-view mirror as Stan blew a kiss and climbed into his own car. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


The house was dark when he walked through the front door and into the hall of the first floor. He locked up and headed up the stairs to the second floor where Tate’s room and his bathroom resided. His wife didn’t like him using theirs. “ _ I’m tired of you ruining my towels with grease and oil. Use Tate’s bathroom or learn to work without getting filthy.”  _ There was no way in hell that he was ever going to do that so him and Tate had a nice consensus with their bathroom. It wasn’t difficult. They didn't lock the door. There were two sinks and two toilets, one for each. Tate had his stool, Iron Man toothbrush, Alf hand soap dispenser and Winne the Pooh hand towel at his and Fidds had his bright green hand towels, GOJO, magnolia oil hand soap and his Captain America toothbrush (he wasn’t ashamed) on his. There was also a separate bathtub and shower both of which were unbelievably large. The shower itself was bigger than his bedroom when he was a kid and had two shower heads coming from the ceiling and side with a huge frosted glass sliding door. It was his favorite room in the house besides his workshop. 

 

He looked into Tate’s room, saw him sleeping and quietly closed the door. He desperately needed a shower. Yeah, he really wanted to be close to Stan but he knew damn well he was sleeping in his car and that wasn’t a smell you particularly enjoyed. Plus he was still worked up from the night's events. He promised Tate he’d sleep in his bedroom and there was no way he was sleeping in the same bed as Carol but there was also no way he was waking up with a raging hard-on next to his five year old kid. 

 

As soon as he was in the bathroom he ripped his clothes off and turned the faucet just hot enough not to burn his skin. Testing the water with his hand he stepped into the spray, letting it wash away the dirt and grime from Stan and the run down bar from his body. He squirted a large dollop of body wash onto his sponge, relishing the soap running down his body as he worked his way down from his shoulders. His breathing became heavy as he gently scrubbed at his lower stomach, purposely avoiding his dick and focusing on his inner thighs, down his muscled legs and his feet. He rinsed the sponge and squeezed some more body wash in his hand. Looking down, he thought of Stan and the way it felt when he pushed his tongue into his mouth, fighting for control and feeling Stan biting at his lip. He shivered when he finally allowed himself to wrap the soap covered hand around his rapidly hardening dick and gave it a tender squeeze. Fiddleford held back a moan and sighed doing his best to be quiet. He hated doing this with everyone home. He usually waited until at least Tate was at school but it was only Friday night and that sure as shit wasn’t happening. His hand slide slowly along his cock, thumb brushing the head and he let out another choked moan, propping his unoccupied arm on the cold tiles of the shower. 

 

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath when his hand traveled lower, rolling his balls on the tips of his fingers and pressing a finger hard on the skin just behind them. His dick was twitching under the warm spray of the water and he gave into the urge to stop teasing himself and stroke hard and fast. Images of Stan on his knees in front of him flooded his fantasies. Being quiet for the household's sake completely forgotten in the wind when his mind was overcome with the feeling of Stan’s hot, wet mouth sucking hard as he gripped handfuls of long brown hair. Of his tongue running along the vein, up to the slit and pressing flat against the head of his cock while he fucked his face. His hips were jerking forward on their own accord now and little whines kept pouring from his mouth as he gripped himself tighter. The Stan in his head unzipped his own pants, jerking himself off as he sucked Fiddleford, moaning around him sending little vibrations through his cock and up his spine. Water was plastering hair to his face and he pressed his forehead against the arm on the wall, gripping a handful of his own hair and biting down hard on his already split lip. He was so close. 

 

“Pa?” Fiddleford hadn’t heard the door open through the spray of the water and he jumped back from the wall, gripping the base of his cock painfully tight willing with everything he had not to cum with his son in the room. God damn he loved that kid but this was exactly why he couldn’t do this with him home. His cock was pulsing hard around his hand trying to cum but unable with his grip so tight around it.

 

“Sweet Sally, Tate! Why are you awake?” His voice was pitched higher and cracking as he quickly spoke turning with his back to the frosted glass door.

 

“You sounded like you were hurt. Are you ok, pa?” Tate took a step further into the room and Fiddleford silently cursed himself for his lack of control. 

 

“Yeah, June Bug. Pa’s fine. Now head off to bed and I’ll be there as soon as I’m outta the shower, alright.” 

 

“Alright.” Tate walked sleepily from the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He waited until he could hear the door for his bedroom close before he finally let himself go. Squirting a little more body wash into his hand, he shook his head under the water trying to get the memories of Stan’s mouth back around his cock. It wasn’t difficult as soon as he ran his hand along his thankfully still rock hard dick and felt himself quickly approaching orgasm once again. He chased it, bringing his other arm down to roll his balls in his hands and there it was. His knees shook as he came, arching his back as he painted the wall with thick ropes of cum, squeezing his eyes shut against the water as he threw his head back. 

 

“Oh, fuck me. Mmmmhhhh-” he breathed out the sounds as he panted against the wall, riding out the aftershocks and trying not to collapse from the intensity of cumming after a night of someone holding him and actually wanting him.

 

He got himself together and finished his shower, toweling off and dressing quickly. He gathered his dirty clothes, taking his wallet and phone from his pocket and tossed them down the laundry shoot. He grabbed his pillow and blanket from the hall closet and habitually looked down at his phone one last time in case work has called him before shutting it off for the night. The screen blinked with a little scroll he had programmed to mean he had a text message. He had never actually gotten any before tonight, testing it with Stan and it was pretty exciting seeing his little invention in action. He opened the message.

 

‘STAN’

_ Goodnight, Ace. I got a motel room for real so I could charge this damn thing.  _

 

‘ME’

_ Goodnight, Stanley. I’m glad to hear that. Oh, and the little one and I are going out for pancakes in the morning. It might actually be more like lunch since I’m not going to be getting up early enough for breakfast. But I’d like it if you came along. My treat. ;)  _

 

He loved those little faces he could make with punctuation marks. It was only a few seconds before another scroll blinked up at him. 

 

‘STAN’

_ Yeah, sounds great. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there. Is that a winking face? _

 

Fiddleford’s chest tightened like a damn grade schooler. This was terrible.

 

‘ME’

_ Yup. ;)   :(   :)  :0   :’(   :’)  <3 _

 

He added this last one with a second of hesitation but sent it anyway. After about a minute his phone blinked again.

 

‘STAN’

_ <3 _

 

Fiddleford choked back the little squeal that was building in his chest and shut his phone. Slipping into Tate’s room, he crawled into his little bed and kissed the top of his head. 

 

“Night, June Bug.”

 

“Night, pa.” His voice was small and Fiddleford knew he had woken him up again. Oh, well. He’d be out in a second anyway. He turned away from his son, back to back and reached over and grabbed his phone from the floor, opening it one more time and looking at the messages.

 

‘STAN’

<3

 

He fell asleep happier than he had in years. 

  
  
  
  



	6. You Should Have Seen Him, Showerhead.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan goes back to his motel room to charge his phone and get harassed by an old lady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is kinda a shorter chapter. But I'll tell you an interesting fact about this story. Almost everything I'm writing is something from my life. My grandpa was addicted to heroin, a convicted felon and I watch him my whole life. He was a huge nerd and the most amazing man I will ever have known. My dad is straight up Fiddleford. I grew up in a place where shoes weren't necessary in stores and you knew how to fight a chicken. He is a documented genius and a master mechanic. He worked for Ford Motor Company building random shit until he had a mental breakdown and locked himself in the basement of the building, convinced the devil lived in his ear. My mom left him and now he lives in a trailer park in a house full of motors and wires and scrap metal and this chapter is short because I'm helping him and his brother (also a mechanical genius with an impressive arrest record and the guy the city fined for having too many cars on their property) with a few projects (I'm going to school for mechanical engineering) in exchange for a contractors badge for the Henry Ford Museum in Michigan. So. Yup. SCIENCE MOTHER FUCKERS!

The little phone felt so weird in Stan’s big hands. It was so unreal and seriously the coolest thing he’d ever seen. Fidds was pretty damn smart to have built this on his own and they way he explained it made it seem like it was fucking child’s play to him. Why would someone like that give him the time of day? If he were Fidds, he wouldn’t even have looked in his direction or at least got away as soon as he realized he wasn’t his brother. But instead he was holding this super weird, awesomely cool phone that he could take pictures with and remembering the taste of that sweet, adorable man on his lips. Plus he had a room for a few nights. He’s not going to admit it to himself but he knew it was just so he could have somewhere to plug that damn contraption in and shower. He was pretty embarrassed at what the first impression he’d made must have been. He was fucking disgusting and yet Fidds still clung onto him like he was the last life vest on the Titanic. This wasn’t going to be good at all. 

 

He rummaged through his duffel bag and found an old bottle of shampoo and bar soap that he had taken from a motel he stayed at a few weeks ago.

 

“There is no way this is cleaning all of me.” 

 

He threw the little toiletries on the bed and looked at the clock on the night stand. It was only midnight and he was sure the corner store would be open still. They sold dumbass random things. They should at least have bar soap there. He threw his jacket and shoes back on and made sure he had his room key and wallet before shutting the door behind him and walking down the stairs to the nearest convenient store. 

 

It was open, thank the lord. He found the cheapest bottle of shampoo they had and a bar of soap, a bottle of laundry detergent and a travel set with a toothbrush and toothpaste together in a little storage bag. He also grabbed a bottle of the cheapest cologne they had that smelled decent and a box of mints and chewing gum.  

 

“On vacation?” The old lady behind the counter flashed him a bright smile. 

 

“No. Just visiting my, uhh...friend.” He dug in his pockets and pulled out his worn leather wallet. 

 

“Ohh. Girlfriend?” Her smile grew mockingly devious in that way old ladies had when they were trying to make young people blush. It always worked on Stan. 

 

“What makes you think that?” His fingers fumbled at the bills as he tried to avoid eye contact. Damn old women and their wicked charm over him. 

 

“Well, looks like you’re planning to look nice and smell nicer. No one buys cologne and mints without thinking about someone special. Unless you’re real kind to hookers.” Stan couldn’t help but chuckle at that. 

 

“Oh, trust me, ma'am. He ain’t no hooker.” He snapped his head up as soon as he had said it and his face darkened red. The cashier’s cheerful demeanor dropped as she glared daggers into his eyes.  “Shit. I mean, he’s not my-I mean, I’m not...fuck, he’s just my friend. Not even my friend. My brother’s friend.” Real smooth. He was a professional con-man and yet he couldn’t lie his way out of a paper bag when it came to this. Never could. 

 

“Mhhmm.” The lady looked at her register and stuck her hand down the front of her shirt, pulling out a gold chain with a small cross dangling from the end. Stan felt the embarrassment draining from his body and anger filling its place. 

 

“What, so your god thinks it’s better for me to go out and find a hooker than a decent dude I DON’T have to throw money at and actually wants to be with me?” He stepped closer, throwing a five dollar bill on the counter. 

 

“He’s all of our God. You will see the folly of your ways in the end.” 

 

“Look lady. Who I fuck is my business. It’s not like I choose to like dick. Plus I don’t believe in god so there isn’t much he can do now, is there?” The old lady seemed to grow more defensive as he spoke. 

 

“What would your parents think, hearing you speak that way of Jesus Christ?” She spoke as if he has slapped her in the face with nothing but his words. 

 

“Yeah, trust me they don’t really give a shit about your cross either. To the queer thing, I’d be dead but they aren't here.” She tossed his change unceremoniously on the counter and Stan scooped it up in one hand and grabbed his bag with the other. “Goodnight, ma’am”, he shouted over his shoulder as he left the shop. 

 

He sneered, walking back to his motel room as he mocked the old woman. 

 

“ _ What would your parents think?  _ Ha! Fucking old bitch,” muttering under his breath as he kicked a stone on the sidewalk. “What business is it of hers? Why does it even matter. What is god going to do? Kill me? Send me to hell? I’m already there.” 

 

He’d give anything to be like his brother. He’s take an extra finger over being a fucky pansy any day. Carla could have stayed with him and he could be living a normal life with a wife and some kids and a job working on the docks or something. But he hadn’t met anyone like her since. No one he could imagine staying more than one night with, at least not any women. He couldn’t trust them anymore and he hated thinking about it. He used to be the biggest ladies man on the playground. Your average muscle bound Jersey boy out with only one thing on his mind and a multitude of girls to choose from. He was in heaven. Until he was going into his junior year of high school and he meet a guy from the next town over at a comic shop and after an invitation to share latest issues and a few beer snuck from his father’s refrigerator, that was over. He lost almost all interest in girls and it scared the living hell out of him. That’s why he clung so hard to Carla. She was his saving grace. The one that could keep him from walking that crooked path and shaming his family. He’d be dead if his father ever caught him even glancing in the direction of another dude. 

 

He remembered when Ford found out he was batting for both teams back in high school. They had been just hanging out in their room like normal when Stan lost himself in one of his wrestling magazines and again like normal, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

 

“Oy vey, he’s hot! I’d wrestle his fine ass, any day.” Stan lay on his bed upside down with the book buried in his face while Ford scribbled on some paper over on his. He hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud and kept flipping the pages. Ford stopped his scribbling and looked over to his twin.

 

“Yeah?” He tried to sound casual but in reality he was overcome with excitement at the opportunity to explore a new horizon within his own bedroom. He hadn’t had much experience with sexuality this early on in life and the variations of it were fascinating. He wasn’t sure about how he felt and studying others seemed like more productive than wasting time going out and doing it himself. Stan didn’t look up from his place on the bed.

 

“Yeah, what?” He flipped another page in his magazine. 

 

“Who’s fine ass would you wrestle?” Ford sat up and tucked his legs underneath him as he grabbed a new piece of notebook paper. Stan froze before quickly straightening himself up and clutching his head at the rush of blood.

 

“Did I say that out loud?” Ford nodded once and Stan’s back went rigid and his pupils dilated as his eyes nearly popped out of his face. 

 

“Ford-” His heart was beating out of his chest and he could feel his face turning red beyond the headrush of laying upside down for so long. Ford saw the panic in his brother’s face and quickly jumped in before he lost his chance not only to talk to his brother but gather some information, too. 

 

“Hey, hey. Calm down, Stanley. It’s ok.” Stan’s breathing was quickening and he looked like he might be on the verge of hyperventilation.

 

“I’m not...That was just, you know. A jockular thing. Like, he is a super fine athlete and I’d like to wrestle him. You know. Show him who’s boss.” He threw his magazine down and stared at his brother, wearing an over exaggerated smile and wringing his hands. He was so fucked. 

 

Stan looked like a deer that knew it had no chance of outrunning the eighteen wheeler that was only inches away from smearing him across the highway. He’d never seen him this scared in his life and it was extremely unsettling. The thoughts of gathering data vanished as his natural urge to comfort his counterpart kicked in. He jumped up and walked across the room to where Stan sat stiffly on the edge of his bed. 

 

“Stan, no it wasn’t. You can’t lie to me, you idiot.” Ford crawled onto Stan’s bed and sat so he could wrap his arms around his middle in an awkward hug, not letting Stan pull away when he tried. 

 

“Yes it was, now let me go. I have stuff to do. Just drop it, alright? You misheard me.” Ford felt Stan’s body heating up and his pulse hammering against his face’s place on Stan’s neck. He tried to pull away again but Ford looped his fingers together and hooked his foot on the footboard of the bed. 

“Stanley, goddamn it. Stop. If I had just misheard you then you wouldn’t be freaking out right now, would you?” He held tighter onto his brother, his own nerves presenting themselves at the thoughts of what Stan might do if he let him out of the room. This was not something he was going to be able to brush off by taking a drive. 

 

“FORD! Please. You misheard me. Please let me go.” He voice was shaking and Ford felt his shoulders tense but he had stopped trying to pull away. 

 

“I’m not letting you go. Now calm down, alright? It’s ok.” Ford rubbed his face against the side of Stan’s, feeling the way his body shook as he tried to control his breathing. He released his vice like hold on his brother and let the hand clutching Stan’s chest press softly against the other side of his head. 

 

“It’s not ok.” Stan whispered knowing that if he spoke any louder he was going to lose control. Ford felt his chest tighten.

 

“It doesn’t matter, Stan. You’re still you. I don’t care.”

 

“I loved Carla.” A single tear escaped his eye and ran down his cheek. Ford wiped it away with his thumb and Stan turned his face from him. “I still like girls.”

 

“I know.” Ford felt awful watching his brother battling himself over something that ultimately didn’t matter. 

 

“I’m not- I’m not gay.” His voice was small and choked, cracking on the last word.

 

“Ok. It’s ok. I know.” Ford nuzzled his face deeper into Stan’s shoulder, his throat constricting as Stan’s shoulders shook and he finally broke, burying his face into his brother’s hair. 

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Ford, please…” His words were muffled between racking sobs and Ford’s hair as he turned his body and clung to his brother. 

 

“Stan. It’s ok. I promise. It’s alright. I love you. I got you. I’m right here and I’m always going to be right here.” They spent the rest of the night laying in Stan’s bed as he cried himself to sleep while Ford stroked his head just like their mother had when they were little. 

 

Stan scoffed into the night air and swallowed hard at the memory of the words his brother had whispered to him that night when he broke down like a little bitch in his bed.  _ ‘I’m here and I’m always going to be right here.’ _ He sure had messed that one up. He tilted his head toward the sky and sighed. 

 

“Just like I mess everything else up.”

 

Stan swung open the door to his room and perfunctorily dumped his shopping bag onto his bed and wandering over to the wall plug, fingering the phone in his pocket. He thought about the night again. Fiddleford knew his brother. Had lived with his brother and ultimately became his best friend. He could see why. This guy was amazing. Hell, he had only known him a handful of hours and he already couldn’t get him out of his mind. He wanted to see him again. If he were honest, he wanted him laying on that hard motel mattress just so he could wake up next to something other than his own reflection. Fidds was so small and thin he was bound to get cold at night and he was like a walking furnace. And a Grade A cuddler. Stan stared down at the phone and debated. He could send a message and wake Fidds up or he could already be asleep and he’ll have to lay there all night wondering if he was ignoring the message because he scared him off from seeming to pushy and needy or he was just asleep. It confused him just thinking about it. He was such a pussy sometimes. After a few minutes of picking up the phone and picking it back up, he finally threw his head back and groaned in defeat. 

 

“Fiiiine. Holy Moses you’re an idiot, Stanley Pines.” He remembered what Fidds had taught him and sent the message. Not too pushy. Just simple and casual. 

 

‘ME’

_ Goodnight, Ace. I got a motel room for real so I could charge this damn thing.  _

 

After a few seconds he heard the sound indicating a message. His stomach clenched.

 

‘FIDDS’

_ Goodnight, Stanley. I’m glad to hear that. Oh, and the little one and I are going out for pancakes in the morning. It might actually be more like lunch since I’m not going to be getting up early enough for breakfast. But I’d like it if you came along. My treat. ;)  _

 

His stomach fluttered as he read the message. He hadn’t woken him up after all. And the message was perfect. Praise that cashiers god that he didn’t scare this guy off. And free pancakes? He was inviting him along with his son. He trusted him enough to introduce him to his son. What the hell were the punctuation marks for? Wait a second. Was that a winking face? 

 

‘ME’

_ Yeah, sounds great. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there. Is that a winking face? _

 

‘FIDDS’

_ Yup. ;)   :(   :)  :0   :’(   :’)  <3 _

 

That was a heart. He had sent him a heart. Was it just showing him he could do it or was it intentional? It was the last one he sent. He thought it over for a minute straight, typing it and erasing it at least five times, the stress making his body itch. He finally closed his eyes and hit ‘Send’. 

 

‘ME’

_ <3 _

 

“Don’t think about it Stan. You’ll see him in the morning and face the music then. For now, wash your ass. You smell like a hobo.” He thought for a second and let out a sardonic laugh. “Well, I guess you technically are.” He scooped up the bag and took it into the bathroom. 

 

“Laundry first.” He pulled off his jeans and went back into the main room and grabbed the only button down shirt he had, taking it along with an undershirt into the bathroom and filled the tub with hot water. 

 

“ _ Scrubbing my pants. Doodley doo. They’re really gross. Deedley dee. _ ” He whistled to himself and he washed and rinsed out his clothes twice, just to be sure, hanging them over the radiator to dry before draining the tub. Grabbing the body wash and shampoo, he wallowed in the excitement of taking the first real shower he had had in weeks. His muscles were aching and the feeling of hot water washing over his skin was beyond words. He felt his body getting lighter as he scrubbed at his hair, letting the water flow through the long brown locks and over his face. The room was fading in and out around him and his head felt like it was being filled with helium. He sighed and opened his mouth, spitting the water out and repeating the motion loving the slightly sweet taste of scalding water on his tongue. His thoughts remained on the night’s events. Of the way Fiddleford had brushed his lips along his, not kissing but just...touching. He felt the butterflies erupt in his stomach through his sluggish thoughts and he smiled like a damn idiot addressing the shower head. 

 

“You should have seen him, shower head. His eyes are like, gems. Like, they’re so colorful and sparkly. Holy shit and his skin is like a baby’s. Except his hands. They’re rough and he has some pretty impressive calluses. Like he works a lot on machines or something. He said he was an inventor. I bet he spends all day in some broke down auto shop somewhere. That is so cool. Ughhhhhhh. Fuck.” He slammed his open palm against the wall of the shower. “He asked me to go home with him. Why the hell did I say no? I could be laying next to him right now. Running my fingers through that thick head of blonde hair and cuddling his tiny little body. Ughhhhh. I’m such an idiot.” 

 

He felt his body beginning to cramp up and his legs were starting to shake from the strain of holding him. The overwhelming feeling of exhaustion was slowly creeping in and he sighed turning off the shower. Drying himself off, he walked naked to his duffle bag, the aching in his muscles and a sudden hot flash superseding his want of clothes. His fingers seeming to nearly vibrate as he unzipped the front of his duffel and pulled out the little vile and a packaged insulin needle. 

 

“Fucking pathetic.” He grabbed the piece of elastic he had ripped out of an old pair of sweatpants and tied it above his elbow, eyeing the dark scabs that dotted his arms. Yellowing bruises surrounded them like a toxic fog, purples and greens highlighting his extended veins. Mocking him. Stan stuck the thin needle into the vile and drew out a small amount of the drug. Just enough to help him fall asleep. Just enough to make the pain in his arms and legs go away. Prodding at his arm, he found a spot he hadn’t hit yet and plunged the needle in. He felt the drug pulse through his arm in into his body, drowning the burning in his bones and deflating his brain. He dropped the needle into the garbage can and fell onto the bed not bothering with the blankets. 

 

His eyelids strained against the effort of remaining open and he gave up, shutting them and burying his face in the stained pillow. Cold, blue sapphires glittered behind his eyes, speckled with flakes of gold and emerald. He reached out to touch them, wanting to feel the cool, smooth stones beneath his fingers but was met with warm velvet. Confused, he drew his hand along the soft warmth on his palm, flexing his fingers. A rough hand engulfed his and the stones melted into eyes. They sparkled up at him through tuffs of dirty blonde hair. Plush pink lips brushed light kisses on the tip of his nose and the corner of his mouth, giggling when he tried to meet their lips. He found himself smiling and giggling right along with them. 

 

_ ‘Uh-uh. I ain’t gonna give it up that easy, honey. You gotta earn it.’  _ Stan felt himself melting into the other, their bodies merging and becoming one. It felt like it the stars were shining in the other’s eyes. Stars that only he was allowed to see. But just as quickly as he appeared, he was vanishing. Pulling out of Stan and walking backwards, extending his hand to the brunette. 

 

_ ‘Come get me.’ _

 

“Ace.” Stan muttered in his last few seconds of semi-consciousness, curling his body in on itself. “Fidds.” 

  
  
  



	7. Frogs and Lacy Panties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford, Tate and Stan get ready for breakfast. At like noon. Because Fiddleford doesn't know how to get up at a descent hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short short short. My roommate is making me do research so I figured I'd get this up while I had it.

Sun was pouring in through the thin cracks in the window blinds when Fiddleford opened his eyes the next morning. Tate was long gone, waking up around 7:30 am no matter the day and Fiddleford took the opportunity to stretch out on the small bed. 

 

“Hmmmmmmmm...Heck. I ain’t slept like that in ages.” He brought a hand to his face and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Reaching down next to the bed to grab his phone, he switched it on and opened the messages from Stan, feeling the butterflies flaring up in his stomach at the little heart. He grinned like an idiot before turning his face into the pillow whining like a hurt puppy at the feeling. 

 

“Damnit!” He rolled over onto his front and looked at the little clock display on the phone screen. 11:14 am. “Well I was right about breakfast.” Fiddleford hit the ‘compose message’ button and typed out his message.

 

‘ME’

_ Good morning, Mr. Pines.’ _

 

He waited anxiously for the reply but after only two minutes he already felt the anxiety creeping in and shut his phone. He really needed to work on that. 

 

“Ya ain’t gonna get anythin’ done layin’ in bed all day.” He sat up and swung his legs over the bed and wandered into the hall, wondering if Tate had remember about his breakfast promise. 

 

“June Bug? Where are ya?” He started towards the stairs, tripping over his pant leg and falling to his knees on the plush carpet. “God damnit.” 

 

“I’m down here, pa. What are you doing?” Tate appeared at the foot of the stairs holding a box of crayons in one hand and a toy dinosaur in the other. 

 

“I just fell down like the clumsy fella I am.” He picked himself up and walked down the stairs, careful not to hook his toe on his pant leg again. Why he didn’t just buy smaller pants was a good question that he didn’t have a good answer to. 

 

“Oh. Are we going to get pancakes still?” Of course he remembered. That kid didn’t forget anything when it came to food. Fiddleford smiled and ruffled his son’s shaggy hair.

 

“Yup, we are. I have a question for ya, though.” Tate followed his father down the back corridor and into his workshop. Tate normally wasn’t allowed in there but he wasn’t going to question the opportunity. Fiddleford watched his little eye’’s scanning the room from top to bottom. It wasn’t a room, really. More of a small airplane hangar full of machinery and there was a lot to look at. Hell, he still looked at it in awe himself sometimes. 

 

“Yeah, pa?” His voice was distant as his eyes caught the attention of a large CNC machine. 

 

“Well, I made a friend while I was out last night.” He played with the phone in his pocket, bringing it out one more time to glance at it quickly before shoving it back into his pajama pants. 

 

“Cool.” Fiddleford could tell the information didn’t matter a lick to his son and continued before he lost the little one’s attention for good. 

 

“He was wondering if he could come with us for pancakes.” Fiddleford knew Tate wouldn’t say no.

 

“Is he nice?” He turned on his father and tilted his head.

 

“Yes, he’s very nice.” Fiddleford thought about eyes staring at him across a dirty table, shining like a dogwood covered in a thin sheen of ice. His voice, gravely yet soft. Two rocks grinding against each other until they were smooth and shimmering. Mercy, did he have it bad. 

 

“Ok. When are we going?” He followed Fiddleford to his desk in the corner of the shop where he had left his phone charger the afternoon before. Pulling it from the wall he noticed a mug of old coffee and picked it up with his free hand to take it into the kitchen before he spilled it all over his desk, ruining his blueprints for Tate’s birthday present. He turned without looking and Tate ran face first into his legs, spilling the cold liquid all over his head and Fiddleford’s front. 

 

“Ahhhhh!” Tate jumped back and wiped his face.

 

“Dang it, boy! Are you alright? Did it go in your eyes?” He knelt down to scan his son who simply giggled and shook his head like a dog, splattering Fiddleford’s face with the mess in his hair. He closed his eyes against the attack and put a hand on his head to stop him from getting anything on his papers.

 

“Alright there, hound dog. Let’s not ruin any of pa’s shit now, huh?” He frowned as he stood and lifted Tate into his arms, his t-shirt sticking to his body. Trying to balance both the coffee cup, phone charger and Tate was a task that by now had been programmed into his basic motor skills. He didn’t feel like bringing a mop down here and mopping up later so he just wiped it up with the bottom of his pant leg. 

  
  


“Guess that’s good for somethin’. I think we both need a shower before we’re doin’ anythin’. Where’s yer mama, by the way?” He hadn’t seen or heard her yelling at him since he’d woken up. 

 

“She left. Said she’d be back tonight.” Tate wiped his coffee covered head against his father’s cheek and laughed at the way he recoiled from the cold touch. 

 

“What is wrong with you, boy?” He laughed along despite his annoyance. He was glad his wife wasn’t home. Apart from the coffee and nearly falling down the stairs the day was going alright. 

 

Following his son up the stairs Fiddleford went into Tate’s room and grabbed a fresh pair of clothes, trying to find something that he didn’t care got ruined with syrup but still looked presentable. 

 

Wandering back into the hall, he froze when he felt his hip vibrating. A jolt of panic seized his body up for a moment, a Pavlovian reaction from working with high powered electrical currents for so many years. Logic caught up with his and he realized it was his phone receiving a message. A new panic rose in his throat as he dug in his pocket and pulled the little device into his hand. 

 

‘STAN’

_ Morning, Mr. McGucket. How are you? _

 

Tate chose that moment to run out into the hall, completely naked. “God dang it, June Bug. Get in the bathroom if ya’ ain’t wearin’ pants.” He ran back into the room and Fiddleford heard the sound of bottles tumbling into the tub. 

 

‘ME’

_ I’m doing well. Better now that I’ve heard from you.  _

 

Oh good heavens, that sounds really silly. Make it not so weird. Don’t freak him out.

 

‘ME’

_ Not that I was like, waiting or anything.   _

 

Oh my gosh now you sound like a right jackass. 

 

‘ME’

_ I mean I was waiting but, I’m just going to stop talking.  _

 

“Pa!” Tate ran back into the hall, still naked, carrying his little sponge and a frog toy. “My head is cold! Hurry!” 

 

The dang kid acted as if his life depended on the bath. The phone vibrated. 

 

‘STAN’

_ I’m laughing. You’re pretty dorky, Fidds. I’m happy hearing from you, too. Even if I can’t, you know, see your face or anything. Wish I could, though.  _

 

Fiddleford felt that dumb fluttery feeling and his fingers flew over the keys. 

 

‘ME’

_ Are you trying to get me to make a fool of myself, Stanley Pines? Because if you are, it’s working.  _

 

‘STAN’

_ I take that as a compliment. :) _

 

‘ME’

_ Alright, enough of that. When do you think you’ll be ready for breakfast? _

 

‘STAN’

_ I’ve been ready for an hour. Just too much of a pussy to text you first. But I’m starving so I gave in.  _

 

‘ME’

_ I’ll pick you up in 20 minutes. Just have to shower the little one and myself. Where are you? _

 

‘STAN’

_ Just pick me up where you met me. I like saying that. Sounds all mysterious and shit.  _

 

‘ME’

_ You got it.  _

 

Fiddleford went into the bathroom and saw Tate sitting in the bottom of an empty tub. Why did he tell Stan he’d be there in 20 minutes? The bar was fifteen minutes away! He didn’t want to change the time. Stan said he was starving. He might just give up on waiting and bail if he had to wait too long. 

 

“Alright, June Bug. You’re jumpin’ in the shower with pa. Grab your sponge and hurry. We gotta leave ten minutes ago.” Tate jumped up and hopped into the shower while Fiddleford striped and turned on the faucet, a little lower than he preferred, but he didn’t want to boil his kid. He scrubbed Tate’s hair and then his own. Tate tried to make his frog walk up his dad’s legs and was taken aback slightly when Fiddleford pushed it away. Shower time was supposed to just be extra play time, especially when his pa let him in the big boy shower with him. It meant his pa wanted to relax in the shower without worrying about him messing with things around the house when his mama wasn’t there to watch him which, in turn, meant play time. 

 

Fiddleford saw the look of confused hurt and knelt down to finish rinsing his hair. “Head back, sweetheart. Pa just is in a bit of a hurry today. I’m excited for you to meet my new friend.” 

 

“Alright.” His eyes were clenched shut beneath the spray of the shower and Fiddleford quickly finished their shower’s, dried off Tate and got his clothes on him in record time. He stood to dress himself and swore. 

 

“Fuck. I didn’t grab my own clothes.” He looked down at Tate and wrapped a towel around his waist. “Go downstairs and put your shoes on, alright? Practice tyin’ them. I’ll be right down.”

 

He ran up the second flight of stairs into his own room. The bed was down-turned on one side and his wife’s clothes were strewn across the floor. He felt disdain looking at them and tore his eyes away from her side of the room before he wasted time hating the exact reason he was going out today. Rummaging through his clothes, he found a nice pair of khakis and a button down shirt. Nothing too nice but not stained and covered in scorch marks. When he go down the stairs, Tate was playing with the laces of his shoes, no where close to tying them. Fiddleford knelt down and took the strings from his small hands. 

 

“Watch the bunny ears. Pinch, loop and pull.” He tied the knot listening to his son repeating him as he tied the second shoe. Scooping him up from the ground, he locked the door and situated Tate in the backseat of the truck. Well, he was going to be late. At least 10 minutes if the traffic wasn’t too bad. He send Stan a quick message. 

 

‘ME’

_ Going to be about 10 minutes late. There was an issue involving a frog and a pair of lacy panties.  _

 

Technically, both of these were true. 

 

‘STAN’

_ I have no idea how to respond to this. You’re a kinky bastard, Fidds.  _

 

Fiddleford barked out a loud laugh and Tate stared at him through the seats. 

 

‘ME’

_ I don’t discriminate.  _

 

His phone buzzed again but he avoided looking at it while he backed into the road and headed in the direction of the bar. 

 

Stan rubbed at his arm under the sleeve of his dress shirt. It was sore and itchy where he had shot up that morning. He made a mistake going too close to the puncture wound from last night but he was distracted by chills and the memories of his dreams. It was still unreal to him, having this guy wanting to talk to him. Fuck, having this guy want to BE with him. He tried to keep his feelings at bay, not wanting to get his hopes up only to have them crushed beneath the bag of shit covered rocks that was himself. But when he finally grew a pair and sent the blonde a message, all of his attempts at distance melted away. 

 

‘FIDDS’

_ Going to be about 10 minutes late. There was an issue involving a frog and a pair of lacy panties. _

 

He probably looked like a maniac laughing like he was outside of a closed bar in the middle of the day but he didn’t give a shit. He was nervous as hell to see him again. Plus Fidds was bringing his kid along. He loved kids mostly because they were the only people he could relate to. He wasn’t going to try and fool himself pretending to be an adult. Wasn’t worth the trouble. But what if the kid didn’t like him? Maybe then Fidds will see what a loser he is and then he’ll be right back where he was yesterday morning. Alone. 

 

When he saw the old Ford rounding the corner of the bar, he ran a hand through his hair and wiped his face, trying to make sure he looked as presentable as he could. He’d showered again, brushed his teeth and his hair and made sure he smelled good and double checked then triple checked before he left the motel but he still felt dirty. Stan shifted nervously on his feet, collecting himself as much as possible, playing it cool as Fidds pulled up to the curb next to him. 

 

“Is that your friend?” Tate stretched his neck to peer out of the front window. 

 

Fiddleford felt his face heating up with a nervous smile when he caught sight of Stan in his clean clothes. “Yeah, June Bug. That’s my friend.” He threw the truck in park and hopped out, walking along the front to greet Stan. 

 

“Hey, Fidds.” Stan knew he was blushing as he looked at the ground and rubbed the back of his neck. Jesus he was an idiot. 

 

“Well, ‘hey’ yourself.” Stan looked like an entirely different person. His face, though still bruised, was clean and his hair was lighter without it’s coating of dirt and grease. The jacket and sweatshirt he was wearing last night had been replaced with a long button down dress shirt and his jeans looked vastly cleaner. Fiddleford could already smell the difference a little soap had made. Stan was rubbing his neck and a sheen of sweat had begun forming on his brow. He was so gosh darn cute. Without thinking he careened forward and wrapped his thin arms around the broad man’s neck, reaching up on his tiptoes to lean his head on Stan’s strong shoulder. Stan’s arms almost completely encircled his body when they wrapped around his waist. 

 

“You can see my face, now.” Fiddleford drew in a deep breath as he burrowed his face into Stan’s neck. “You smell real nice.”

 

“Hehe. Thank’s.” Fiddleford pulled away and smiled up at Stan’s shy expression. Like a newborn fawn with eyes big, brown and bright while terror of the world around him flickered along the edges. Fiddleford forgot where he was. Feeling a surge of affection he jumped up and caught Stan’s mouth in his own. Stan squeaked, freezing up with eyes open wide before relaxing against the warm mouth and returning the kiss, tightening his hold on the smaller man. Fiddleford pulled away after a short while and adjusted his reading glasses where Stan’s nose had knocked them askew. 

 

Stan cleared his throat and smiled at the ground before looking up into the window of the truck and raising his eyebrows. “So, I take it he knows about, uhh, this?” 

 

“What?” Fiddleford twisted his face in confusion before Stan pointed to the truck where Tate had unbuckled himself and was pressed against the front passenger window smiling readily at his father and his new friend. 

 

“Oh, sweet Mary. Well, no.” Stan chuckled at Fiddleford’s panicked expression. At least he wasn’t the only one nervous now.  

 

“Maybe he just thinks you were whispering. Into my mouth. With your tongue.” Fiddleford smacked his arm and Stan gritted his teeth against the sharp pain and played it off with an exaggerated wince. 

 

“Come’on ya asshole. Thought you were starvin’.” Fiddleford walked to the truck and swung open the passenger side door. “Tate, what in blazes are ya doin’ gettin’ out of yer seat. Get back in there, now. Stan, you get in here, too.” Stan huffed out a little laugh as he watched the long haired little boy clambering to get back into his car seat and climbed in where Fiddleford held the door for him. 

 

“Thanks, Ace.” Stan shot him a toothy grin and winked when he saw the exasperated expression on the blonde’s face. “It’s only been a few minutes and ya’ll are already gonna be the death’a me.”


	8. Jelly Towers and World Domination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford, Stan and Tate have a nice Saturday afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for any errors in this chapter. It's been a long week. Oh, and I guess I never mentioned but it probably should be, I am getting some of Fidd's personality traits and habits (like his love for tobacco and anxiety issues from Journal 3. I hope that's not considered a spoiler but if it is, I'm sorry.)

“Stanley, this is my son, Tate Baryon McGucket. Tate, this is my friend, Stanley Pines.” Fiddleford glanced back at his son in the rear-view mirror and watched as he examined Stan when he turned to face him. 

 

“Hello, Mr. McGucket. It’s nice to meet you. If you’re anything like your pops here, we’re gonna get along just fine.” Stan held a hand nearly the size of the small boy’s face out as an offering. Tate stared at it momentarily before grasping the side of his pointer finger and shaking it smoothly and releasing it, but not before squeezing it as hard as he could, grinning back at the brunette with a smile the Cheshire cat would envy.  

 

“Ouch, kid.” Stan smiled and examined the reddening mark on his hand. 

 

“Tate!” Fiddleford reared his head and glared at his son. 

 

“Nah, Fidds. It’s cool. He’s feisty. I like it.” Stan’s eyes shone bright when the boy in the backseat grinned back at him with a straight-toothed smile. Fiddleford huffed and stared back at the road, his demeanor failing to cover his joy at watching the pair of them smiling at one another. 

 

“B’sides he’s strong and I need a boxing partner. You ever box, kid?”

 

The boy shook his head. “What does ‘boxing’ mean?”

 

“Oh, man! Have I got some things to teach you! It’s only one of the best sports in the world! What about you, Fidds? You ever box before?” 

 

Fiddleford chuckled dryly and shot Stan a catty smile before grabbing his thigh and rubbing it playfully. “Nope but that don’t mean I can’t fight. And win.” 

 

Stan’s eyebrows rose at the look of smug certainty in the engineer’s face. “Oh, yeah? How do you figure?”

 

“Stan. I grew up on a hog farm in Tennessee weighin’ no more’n a hundred’n ten pounds with a passion for buildin’ somethin’ other’n farm tools and an equally intense passion for the farmhands. How do ya’ think I survived? I can pin down a two hundred pound man as easily as I can my little June Bug, back there. I fight like a hillbilly, honeybee.”

 

Stan was powerless to that smile. Add the unknown strength behind it and he was down for the count. “Huh. You’ll have to prove that to me sometime.” He wasn’t really aware of the words coming out of his mouth, focusing more on the hand still rubbing along his thigh. A gentle squeeze to the knee pulled him back to earth. 

 

“I’m plannin’ on it.” 

  
  
  


Fiddleford carried Tate on one slender hip as he and Stan walked into the small diner, following the waitress to a booth in the corner near a large window facing the parking lot. 

 

“Alright now, June Bug. You got a ten dollar limit. Stan, you do whatever you want. I’m gonna run to the washroom. Can you keep an eye on him? I’ll be back in just a second. Oh, and if she comes back before I do, I want coffee. Black.” 

 

“You got it, Ace.” Fiddleford smirked and turned toward the bathroom in the back of the restaurant. 

 

Stan sat in the booth across from Tate, nervously twiddling his thumbs like the five year old was conducting the most important interview of his life. Anxiously, he waited for the waitress to come back and save him from the pressure of this kids gaze. 

 

“Pa likes you. He wouldn’t let me play with my frog because of you.” Tate grabbed the edge of the paper placemat and started rolling it with his meager little fingers. 

 

“Uhhhh…” Stan didn’t have a single clue on how to respond to that. Thankfully he didn’t have to when the waitress walked up to their table, pad and paper clutched in her hand.

 

“What can I get you boys?” She glanced at Stan with a warm smile. Her nametag read ‘ _ Fran _ ’ and her makeup read ‘ _ I’m going blind in one eye but I still managed to smear this eyeshadow on! _ ’.

 

“Coffee. Two actually.” 

 

“Can I please have chocolate milk?” Tate asked the woman, sitting up on his knees so that he was able to look her in the eyes without craning his neck. 

 

“Why of course you can.” She smiled once again and wrote their orders down. Stan stopped her before she could leave, Tate’s order sparking a new want. God, he hadn’t had chocolate milk in years. It sounded amazing.

 

“Can I get a chocolate milk, too?” He felt a bit childish asking but what the hell. 

 

“Haha. Sure, honey. Still want the coffee?” 

 

“Yeah. Thank you.”

 

“I’ll be right back with those.” As soon as she had gone Tate dropped back on his butt and started sliding down the front of the bench and under the table. 

 

“Woah, what are you doing, there kid?” Stan felt Tate crawling between his legs and coming up on the bench next to him. 

 

“I’m sitting here.” He said this as if it were the most obvious answer in the world and Stan was a complete idiot. 

 

“Umm. Alright. Any reason why? No that I’m complaining or anything.” Stan raised his arms in shock when the boy started crawling across his lap to sit next to the window. “You’re just as weird as your dad, aren’t you?”  

 

“So.” He started grabbing the little jelly packets and stacking them in a tower. Stan wasn’t too ashamed to admit he was jealous Tate was stealing all of the jelly. But he didn’t want to take his. They couldn’t each built a tower with like, four jelly packets each. He looked around and when he was sure no one was looking, jumped up from the booth and stole the packets off of the two nearest empty tables, dropping them back on theirs. Tate's eyes grew wide and Stan grinned maniacally at the shocked kid. 

 

“Bet I can make mine taller.” He situated himself back in his seat and Tate sat back up on his legs.

 

“You have to share!” Stan snorted and grabbed a handful of sugar packets. 

 

“Fine, but I’m using these too.”

  
  


Fiddleford stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror before wetting a paper towel and running the cool rag over his eyes. Stan looked so nice all cleaned up and smelling pretty and Tate didn’t seem to be scared of Stan’s sheer natural intimidation the way he initially was. He took his phone from his pocket and looked at the time. His lawyer should be in his office right now. Stan should be fine watching Tate for a few more minutes. He flipped open the little phone and dialed the number for his lawyer, pacing the small bathroom as he listened to the ringer, his thoughts drifting to the smile on Stan’s face when Tate had been a little shit and squeezed his hand. ‘ _ They’re both so gosh dang cute.’ _ Pulled out of his thoughts, he jumped when the line picked up and a voice greeted him from the other end. 

 

“Salgado law offices. How may I be of assistance?” The secretary’s voice chimed at him through the phone. 

 

“Hey there, Mrs. Dixon. Fiddleford McGucket here. How are you doin’ today, hon’?” Prince Salgado was the best  civil litigation lawyer he could find in California. Unfortunately he knew it and didn’t care to deal with his clients one on one if he could help it. Fiddleford spent most of his time chatting with his secretary, be it on the phone or in the law firm waiting room, talking about her newest suit and the latest New Kids on the Block songs. 

 

“Oh, Mr. McGucket! I’m doing just great. How are you?” 

 

“Well that’s wonderful to hear. I myself am doin’ just fine. Better than fine.”

 

“Good to hear! So what has you calling in on a Saturday? You can’t possibly have another patent ready to go through the system.” Fiddleford huffed before he answered. He could, but he wanted to make sure he’d worked out all the bugs before sending something through. 

 

“No, ma'am. No patents. I actually need Mr. Salgado to draw me up some divorce papers. As soon as possible would be best.” 

 

“Oh, Mr. McGucket. I’m so sorry!” She sounded genuinely empathetic and Fiddleford could just picture her holding her hand to her mouth in shock.  

 

“Pyshhh. Please don’t be. If I was happy I wouldn’t be askin’ for the papers. I’ve put it off for way too long for my son’s sake but I’ve met someone who opened my eyes to the reality of that.” 

 

“Oh, well in that case, congratulations. Will I be pulling up marriage licenses anytime soon?” The mischievous tone of her voice didn’t go unnoticed.

 

“Not unless you can change the law, sweetheart.” 

 

“Oh?” She sounded confused. Fiddleford didn’t speak, giving her a few seconds to think. “Oh! I...umm. Didn’t know that you-.”

 

“What other man is gonna tell ya’ what shade of blue makes your skin tone best?” He heard the soft titter of a laugh and decided that he had spent WAY too much time on the phone. “That’s all I needed. If you could just have those drawn up…”

 

“Of course! Is your wife currently aware of the filing?” 

 

“Well, not officially, no. I was plannin’ on tellin’ her tonight.” He hadn’t thought about that. He’d never went through a divorce before. He didn’t know there were rules. 

 

“Ok, well you’re going to have to ‘serve’ her. Someone over the age of 18 must give her the service formally acknowledging the divorce. She has to sign it and then the divorce will officially be underway.”

 

“Ok. When is the soonest I can serve her?” He was hoping this was going to be quick and easy. He wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. 

 

“Well, like I said, you can’t physically hand her the papers. But I can have the service drawn up in a few minutes. If you have someone you trust who can deliver the paper, your divorce can be underway by the end of the day as long as I’m able to file it with the courts before the judge leaves.” 

 

Fiddleford’s spirits rose at that. “So you mean as long as she signs the service by the end of the day and I get it back to ya’, my divorce will be in the works?” 

 

“Yes. If there is friction in the household, I recommend a separation until the official paperwork is signed and closed. You have quite an estate and a child so splitting it might take a little longer than a normal dividend.”

 

“She signed a prenup. I’m not givin’ her a cent that she doesn’t need. I’m also keepin’ my son. I’ll fight her for that one.” Tate’s future had completely slipped his mind. He had just assumed that he was going to keep him. Carol was almost certain not to fight him.  

 

“Ok, well. I’m actually not allowed to know this.” Fiddleford heard the clicking of keys and a knock on the bathroom door. 

 

“I have to go, darlin’.” 

 

“I’ll have those papers ready in a few minutes. I can fax them if you’d like.”

 

“Please. My home fax. Thank you so much. Bye bye, now.” 

 

“Goodbye, Mr. McGucket and good luck.” 

  
  


Fiddleford was busy rolling up his arm sleeves and didn’t notice the commotion happening around the booth where his boys sat. When he finally did, he froze mid-step. 

 

“What the heck…?” Stan and Tate were sitting together on one booth, a stack of jelly packets at least a foot and a half high was positioned in front of them. It was swaying dangerously, threatening to topple over into the glasses of chocolate milk and mugs of coffee placed just inches away.  Stanley was attempting to place what looked like the last of the obscene amount of jelly packets on the top of their tower. Fiddleford was too nervous about the swaying monument to intervene, frightened that if he did he would scare the boys and ultimately cause the destruction himself. 

 

“Stan, be careful!” Tate was clutching the arm Stan wasn’t using to complete the task of creating what had to be the tallest jelly packet tower in the restaurant’s history. 

 

“I am being careful!” Stan’s retort sounded so much like one of Tate’s classmates instead of a twenty-something year old man that Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile for a split second before fear gripped him once again.  Stan had the packet touching the top, his large fingers delicately moving away from the colorful structure. 

 

“Don’t. Bump. The table.” Stan whispered, his gruff voice somehow sounding softer while speaking to the little boy. 

 

“I won’t.” Tate whispered back into Stan’s shoulder where he was leaning, now fully standing on the booth. 

 

Stan’s fingers were gone. The tower still stood. Face cracking smiles erupted on the faces of both boys when Stan’s hands made it back to his chest and the tower ceased its wavering. 

 

“Yes! Score! Best jelly tower in history! We could charge people to see this! High-five!” Stan held his hand up in front of Tate, not having to wait long before the boy eagerly slapped his hand. The pair were becoming less cautious and Fiddleford decided now was definitely the best time to impose on their celebration.

 

He cleared his throat as he approached the end of the booth, ignoring the eyes of the other patrons while they tried to hear what he was going to say to them, probably hoping for a show to go along with their Saturday lunch. 

 

“What in tarnation do you boys think you’re doin’?” Fiddleford put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot expectantly, not exactly angry at the two but was curious at what they would say. He was glad that they were getting along so well together, but not so much that Stan wasn’t going to help Tate’s ‘experiments’ become any less dangerous. He was going to turn him into his father. 

 

“Oh hey! Babe, you gotta look at this!” Stan froze and the look of trepidation that swept over his face would have made Fiddleford laugh if he wasn’t currently sporting the same expression. Fiddleford raised his eyebrows causing Stan to flail his arms dramatically, preparing to distract the blonde from his statement with his well trained silver-tongue when he flung a hand straight into the jelly. It flew across the table, thankfully avoiding the beverages and floor. 

 

“Um, I-” Stan was cut off by a small body crawling it’s way over his lap. He’d just called Fidds ‘babe’. What the sweet fuck was wrong with him? 

 

“Pa! Stan can build stuff, too! He made the tower.” Tate hopped off of Stan’s booth and hugged his dad’s leg.

 

“I see that.” His eyes didn’t leave the brunettes even as the five year old clung to his leg and pulled him down into the booth. Stan was terrified, feeling his palms sweating and trying his best to think of something to say but the way Fidds was looking at him...His eyes piercing through his skin and past his bones, setting on what had to be the very center of him. Reading glasses doing nothing to hide his stare.

 

Stan looked so nervous and good god it was cute. Fiddleford couldn't think of anyway to respond with Stan's face looking so, utterly terrified. 

 

“I like Stan. You should keep him.” Stan was pulled away from Fiddleford’s unreadable face and turned his own on Tate at that. 

 

“ _ Keep him? _ Jezze, kid. I know I smell weird and my hair is kinda long but you smell weird and your hair is long, too. Doesn’t mean I’m a stray dog or something.” His hands rested on the table in front of him and Tate sat back up on his knees in the booth next to his father, who had taken to staring at the table and spinning a creamer container on the table. Stan wanted to reach out and grab his hand. Make him look at him and let him know he didn’t just cross a line. He thought he might have seen a smile but couldn’t tell with the engineers face down in the table. 

 

“No. You’re nice.” Tate was leaning across the table with his elbows propping him up so he could get closer to Stan. In turn, the older of the two lean forward until they were close enough where Tate wouldn’t let the entire restaurant in on their conversation. “But you smell weirder than me.”

 

Fiddleford’s shoulders shook, laughing at his son and the indignation on his friends face. Pushing him back off the table and down on his seat he finally looked up at Stan, eyes twinkling along with his smile. 

 

“Haha. I think Tate’s right, Stan. Not about smellin’ weird. But ya’are nice. Wouldn’t mind keepin’ ya around. Ya know. If that’s alright with you.” Fiddleford reached across the table and took one of Stan’s large hands in his own, entwining their fingers and grinning at the blush that crept into the brunette’s face. 

 

“I think I already told you that. You have some kinda memory problem?” Stan ducked his head, smiling as he squeezed Fiddleford’s hand. 

  
  


They ate and talked, Tate mostly retelling stories of school episodes of Saturday cartoons he had watched earlier today. 

 

“Stan’s coming to the park with us.” Tate said as if it were a simple fact and not a decision he had just made. Stan stared at the little boy, obvious confusion on his face.

 

“Who said we were going to the park?” Fiddleford wiped the syrup from his son’s face and looked back at Stan who threw his hands up in a show of guiltlessness.

 

“Hey, don’t look at me.”

 

“Pa, can we go to the park?” He was the a portrait of purity, innocent smile and puppy dog eyes melting away any chance at opposal Fiddleford might have had. 

 

“Yes, we can go to the park.”

 

“Stan is coming, too.” 

 

“Don’t ya think ya should ask Stan if he can go to the park?” Stan smiled at the little kid in front of him. 

 

“Stan, can you come play at the park with me and pa?” 

 

“Haha. Sure, kid.”

  
  


Fiddleford sat on the park bench with a paperback science-fiction novel in one hand and a lite cigarette in the other. He loved days like this. The sun was high in the sky, shining down hot while a slight breeze kept him from getting too hot in the California weather. He watched as Stan ran through the maze of swings and slides with groups of children, not once minding the looks the parents gave him as their children played with the husky-voiced man with the thick dark rings beneath his eyes. Fiddleford glanced up from his novel to see Tate and another young girl hanging from each of his arms while three others waited for their turn on the human swing. Warmth spread from his stomach up to his face where it erupted through a smile. Stan looked up and beamed at the blonde, the affection he felt only growing as he watched his son and the other children fighting for Stan’s attention. Stan dropped the pair and took off in the direction of the merry-go-round, a group of children quick on his heels. 

 

“Ok. Here’s the deal. You guy’s see that guy with the book on the bench?” Stan knelt down, forming a huddle with his young followers. They nodded as they all spotted Fiddleford, nose deep in his book once again. “That’s the bad guy. That book he’s reading is called ‘How To Take Over the World in 30 Days’. I need you all to help me stop him. We’re gonna be the cops.”

 

“Pa’s not going to take over the world.” Tate looked at Stan like he was crazy.

 

“Not for real. But we’re pretending.” Stan ruffled Tate’s hair and grinned at his giggle.

 

“Oh, ok.”

 

“Alright. So here’s the plan.” 

 

Fiddleford was entranced. Giant robots had descended on the world, clawing their way from the center of the earth and had just caught the attention of the U.S government when he heard it. A battle cry from five children and one overgrown child as they charged in his direction, wild eyed and screaming as if the devil himself were hot on their tail. He stared in shock as they closed in on him before fight or flight took over and he quickly made his decision. Slamming his book down on the bench, he jumped up and took off running in the direction of the small sledding hill on the edge of the park.

 

“You’ll never get away with this, Fiddleford McGucket! Evil never prevails!” Stan raised his arm as if he brandished a sword and the children followed suit. Fiddleford yelped and ran. 

 

He thought he was fast. It turned out that despite his heavy stature, Stan was faster. Much faster. Before he had a chance to look behind him, he was airborne. Stan’s arms wrapped themselves around his middle and swung him toward his chest and falling backwards onto the hill, embracing the smaller man in a tight hug. Fiddleford laid across Stan’s chest as they both tried to catch their breath through their laughter. The children jumped onto the pair, screams of victory echoing through the park. 

 

“We got you! You can’t win! The world is ours! We’re safe! Stan won!” 

 

“Oh, my. Stan Pines what’d you tell em?” Fiddleford rested his head on Stan’s shoulder, using his shirt to wipe away a tear.

 

“You’re trying to take over the world.” Stan turned his face into the mess of blonde hair and inhaled deeply. He felt like he was breathing in the sun and wrapped his arms tighter around the thin body above him. 

 

“Haha. That’ll be the day.” He shifted and lay his forehead against Stan’s, their eyes locked together. Stan could feel his heart beating through Fiddleford’s chest. 

 

“You’re surrounded by small children, Mr. McGucket.” Stan breathed quietly when Fiddleford lowered his face until their noses brushed. 

 

“Ain’t nothin’ they ain’t seen before.” He brought his face even lower, wavering slightly before brushing his lips against Stan’s. He let out a shaky sigh through his nose before relaxing into the warm kiss, mind drifting away from his surroundings and lingering on the taste of tobacco on Fiddleford’s breath. 

 

“Ewwww!” The kids started to laugh and jump back from the couple laying in the grass. Stan broke the kiss and rolled Fiddleford off of his chest.

 

“You’re eww!” He jumped to his feet and the children screamed, running avidly back to the swing set. Fiddleford got up himself and looked at the time. He had really get back home. He wanted to file that paperwork so that he could get the papers to serve his wife as soon as possible. At the same time, he didn’t want Stan to go. He knew he wouldn’t have to if he filled out the damn papers but he was selfish and didn’t often get what he wanted. Just this once maybe he could. 

 

“Hey, Stan?” 

 

“Yeah?” Stan allowed his hand to brush against Fiddleford’s thigh as they walked, sending a chill down the engineer’s spine. 

 

“I have to head back home. I was wonderin’ if maybe you’d wanna come over an’ watch a movie or somethin’.”

 

Stan leered down at Fiddleford. Embarrassment at the notion of his own suggestion flushing his cheeks and twisting his tongue. 

 

“I mean, you know. Uhhh, just the movie. With Tate.” Stan slid a hand behind Fiddleford’s waist. He wanted that. He wanted to go home with this man who looked at him as if he were the moon in a clear night sky. He made him feel good. Better than good. He made him feel like life didn’t blow as much as he thought it did. He wanted to stay with him. That was the exact reason he couldn’t go home with him. He needed to find a job. There was no way he was going to let Fidds pay his way again. Stan was chivalrous and this guy was already trying to one up him by holding doors and buying him pancakes. Next time, he’s going to be the man but he wasn’t going to do it by selling smack on the corner. Especially when he was using more and more of his own product everyday. That was another problem. He needed to start cutting back. Weaning himself off slowly so Fidds didn’t suspect any sign of withdrawal. Grab some healing ointment for his arms too. 

 

“You have no idea how much I want to, Fidds. Snuggling up to you while we watch a movie, maybe under a blanket. Without the little one in the room. I know you’re feeling guilty about cheating but I can’t wait to do things to that cute little body of yours.” Fiddleford’s stomach twisted and shook at Stan’s words. “But I can’t today. I’m going to go look for a job. Can’t have you paying for dates.”

 

“Oh, Stan. I don’t mind. Trust me-”

 

“Absolutely not.” Stan picked Fiddleford’s book up from the bench and called for Tate. “Hey, kid! We’re leaving!”

 

“Coming, Stan!” Fiddleford looked at the other parents around the park. All moms and their kids. Not a single dad. It really was shame. He thought on it and openly grabbed Stan’s hand hoping to catch the eye of a few of the moms when they saw Tate’s smiling face while he walked with the couple. It wasn’t that he wanted to show off or maybe tease the women about what a good husband looked like. Ok maybe it was. And ok, that right there was a problem. Stan wasn’t his husband or even technically his boyfriend. But the things he had just said, holy lord. He needed to get home and fill out those papers. 

  
  
  
  



	9. You Can't Blow Me Until I Know I Won't Give You AIDs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford finally gets some action but he still can't have everything he wants. Old people can be evil racist ass-hats and you should always get tested, kids. Especially if you've spent the last 9 years of your life sleeping around and doing drugs with strangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly coming up with these titles is going to kill me. I've been stranded in my house because of a wonderful Michigan snowstorm and I'm possibly going insane. Fiddleford is a horny mess of a man.

“Why won’t you let me take you to your motel, honey?” Fiddleford held onto Stan as they stood in front of the bar, arms wrapped around one another and noses close. Stan pressed a kiss to his lips, pulling back so he had just enough space to speak.

 

“Because I want to keep at least some of my dignity intact. Plus you got a kid passed out in your backseat that you need to get home.” Fiddleford scoffed and tilted his head up for what had to have been the fifth time since he first told Stan he was letting go. He was granted another soft kiss, breath catching when Stan slid his tongue past his lips. Fiddleford whined when Stan pulled away.

 

“Hey, I don’t want to like, fuck myself over with this one but...You know, if you were my husband, I would TOTALLY call this cheating.” Stan didn’t want to say it. He knew he couldn’t sleep with Fidds right now but god, did he want to. He wanted to drag the smaller man off to some shady spot in the park or back to Fidds place and rip the clothes from both of their bodies but he felt so guilty. He looked down and saw nothing but the face of utter fucking perfection. There was no way his wife didn’t want to bang the shit out of him whenever she could. Hell, his dick was hard from just holding him.

 

“Ughhhh. I know.” Fiddleford lay his head on Stan’s broad chest and wrapped his arms tighter. His face scrunched up as he squeezed his eyes closed. He knew from the second he kissed Stan at the park that this was wrong. But he didn’t care. Carol was out sleeping around. At least all he was doing was kissing. Maybe he touched Stan once through his pants but that was it. Ok, and he did clean the ol’ rifle while thinking about him in the shower but that wasn’t anything you could call cheating. “But I don’t care, anymore.”

 

Stan huffed out a relieved sigh that he intended to be a laugh but he was so happy he hadn’t ruined his chances at getting another kiss from the engineer.

 

“You don’t care anymore. Wow, I’m complimented, Fidds. All it took was a day and I got you sneaking around.” He buried his face into soft blonde hair. Holy Moses, he smelled so good.

 

“You should be. I’ve been turnin’ down offers for years now. And it ain’t just cause’ you’re prettier’n a flower in the sunshine, neither. I sat alone with that face for four long years without feelin’ like I had a nest’a hummin’birds in my chest.”

 

“Alright. You need to leave before I drag you behind this bar and fuck you over a trashcan.”

 

“As romantic as that sounds, you're right. Good luck with the job huntin’, darlin’.” Fiddleford turned and gripped the handle of his truck, pulling the door open and pausing. Before Stan could register what was happening, Fiddleford had turned back around and thrown himself onto him once more, grabbed his face in between his hands and was kissing him feverishly. Stan wrapped his arms around Fiddleford, shocked when he pulled himself up by Stan’s shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist. Stan settled his hands underneath Fiddleford's ass and moaned into his mouth when he felt the blonde shift against his groin. Stan stumbled backwards, turning away from the truck and out of sight from Tate before pressing Fiddleford against the side of the bar.

 

“Fuck, Fidds.” Stan ground his hips into Fiddleford’s and twitched at the soft groan it pulled from the smaller man.

 

“I really would appreciate that.” Fiddleford sucked a red mark under the collar of his shirt. Stan shuddered and rolled his hips, pressing Fiddleford harder against the cold brick of the building.

 

“Ughhh. Fidds you know I can’t. Now I’m going to have a stiffy all day while I’m trying to get a job so I can take you on nice dates and buy your weird kid stuff so he likes me more than you.” Stan winked and licked at Fiddleford’s mouth until he opened it.

 

“I bet I could get ya’ off real quick. You wouldn’t need to worry about poppin’ up durin' an interview.” Fiddleford bit at his earlobe. “I gave the best head on campus.”

 

Stan felt his dick digging into the zipper of his pants and pulled back, dropping Fiddleford onto his feet, groaning as the blonde palmed the front of his jeans.

 

“ _Mmmmmm fuck._ Fidds, _stop_. I’m gonna cum in my damn pants and I just washed these.”

 

“I’ll wash em’ again.” Fiddleford squeezed Stan and pressed his own hard length against his toned thigh. It was too much and Stan fell compulsively to his knees.

 

“You’re fucking terrible, Fiddleford.” Stan grabbed Fiddleford’s waist and pulled him closer, the outline of his dick flush with Stan’s mouth. He hummed as Fidds grabbed a handful of his hair and pushed his hips forward, begging silently through wheezed breaths. Stan mouthed his cock through his khakis, reveling in the desperate whimpers escaping the blonde’s throat as he pushed Stan’s head down harder.

 

“Fuck, Stanley. Please, Tate’s in the truck. I need ya’ to hurry.” Stan looked around the parking lot. It was still early and the bar didn’t open for another couple hours. Running his tongue along the damp spot forming at the head of his cock, Stan quickly undid the buttons on Fiddleford’s pants as the smaller man dug into his boxers and pulled his dick out, rubbing pre-cum around the head with  his thumb, hand shaking as he guided himself to Stan’s mouth. Stan’s tongue darted out, licking away the moisture while a large hand gripped the base of the throbbing member in front of him. He was impressed. For a little guy, he could give Stan a run for his money in the size department.

 

“ _Shhhit, fuck._ Stan. I ain’t gonna last long.” It had been so long since anyone had done this for him. Fiddleford could already feel the pulsing in his stomach and had to bite the side of his hand to keep from screaming when Stan took him into his mouth without warning. He sucked hard before withdrawing and massaging the head with his tongue, sucking him right back in and swallowing when he felt Fidds hitting the back of his throat.

 

“Stan, _ohhh, heavens. Stan._   _I-I'm gonna cum_.” His breathing was forced as he tried to keep himself from shoving his cock down Stan’s throat. The brunette only hummed, vibrations reverberating through his body and that was it.

 

“Stan. _Stan! I’m gonna-ahhhhhh!”_ Stan didn’t let up on Fiddleford, swallowing around every pulse and twitch of the engineers dick. Fiddleford didn’t stop either, his hips still grinding forward after he came. He was still rock hard in Stan’s mouth and despite the orgasm he’d had only seconds before, was panting like he was still on the edge. His words were broken, drawn out while he struggled to breath. 

 

“Not... _finished_. S-Sorry Stan. _Ohhhh..._ _Fuck_ , you feel _so nice_. _Ohhh, fuck. Fuck._ Im’ma cum again. Oh, my... _ohh gooooddd.”_ One last thrust and he was spilling down Stan’s throat for a second time. Stan kept Fiddleford in his mouth, sucking lightly until he was softly pushed away.

 

“Stan. I can’t...oh my goodness. I ain’t cum like that in years. You’re so god dang pretty down there on your knees. Let me-” Stan stood and pressed Fiddleford back against the wall, plunging his tongue into the other’s mouth and keeping him from returning the gesture. Fidds gasped at the force Stan put into his kiss, tasting himself on the other’s tongue.

 

“No.” Stan growled as he bit and licked at Fidd’s bottom lip. No matter how much he wanted to watch that blonde head bobbing on his dick, he hadn’t been tested in a LONG time. The shit that he had been out doing was pretty sketchy and he needed to before he let Fidds anywhere near his privates. If he was anyone else, it wouldn’t matter but he liked this guy. A lot.

 

“But, I want-” Fiddleford tried the pull away but he was no match for Stan’s strength, no matter how much he wanted to think he was. Stan kept him caged between the wall and his solid frame.

 

“I know, and I want you to but I need to take care of a few things first.” He brushed his nose against Fiddleford’s and kissed his cheek.

 

“What kinda things?” He tilted his head, giving Stan access to his neck and sighing at the gentle brush of teeth on the sensitive skin beneath his ear, biting and giving Fiddleford what was sure to be an impressive love-bite.

 

“I’ve been living the nomadic lifestyle for a long time, sweetheart. A man tends to lose track of things such as condoms and self respect. I’m not letting you anywhere near my dick until I know it’s not going to give you some kinda disease. Even though I’ve never had anything happen down there, I know those things can hide.”

 

“Oh, Stanley.” Fiddleford pulled Stan in and held him in a tight hug. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

 

Stan chuckled and they finally broke apart. “Seriously? That’s hard to believe.”

 

“Well, believe it. There’s a free clinic down the block. They’re open 24/7 so please, for me. Get your behind down there and piss in a cup. BEFORE you go off lookin’ for a job. That is your job today.” Fiddleford brushed a hand along the side of Stan’s face before grabbing his hand and walking back to the truck. Tate still sat sleeping in his carseat, thank god.

 

“Is it ok if I call you tonight?” Stan held the door for Fiddleford as he climbed into the front seat.

 

“Of course, darlin’. Heck. If you don’t I’ll probably end up callin’ you. I’m goin’ to talk to Carol as soon as I see her.”

 

“Alright. Talk to you later, Ace.” Stan smiled.

 

“You too. Hey, Stan?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks for, you know.” Stan chuckled and wiped a hand down his own face.

 

“Trust me, it was my pleasure.”

  


Stan went back to his motel room feeling like he was walking on a cloud. He had just blown Fidds. Like, seriously pushed him against the wall and sucked his dick and he came _twice_ . Holy shit that was so hot. His stomach quivered when he recalled the sounds Fidds had made and the look of fucking pure _bliss_ on his face. It really had been a long time since anyone had touched him. The fact that it was him who Fidds finally let on him only added to his prideful grin. He looked at himself in the cracked mirror and smoothed down his ruffled hair, splashing water on his face and giving himself another once over before heading out and down the street.

 

On his way to the clinic, he passed the convenient store where he’d got the soap from last night. They had a sign in the window stating ‘NOW HIRING’. He groaned remembering his exchange with the old lady but it was worth stopping in.

 

“Hello, ma’am.” Stan stood at the counter, hands crossed in front of him and legs spread slightly, just as his father taught him when addressing a superior. She was facing away from him when she first spoke.

 

“Well, hello there-” She stopped when she turned and saw him standing front of her, clean and looking like a respectable human. “Oh. Well, what can I help you with.” Her tone changed from cheerful to convulsed in the blink of an eye.

 

“I want to apologize for our exchange last night. I was a real jack-ass.” It burned him saying the words but he needed to get on her good side.

 

“Yes. I would say so.” Stan cleared his throat she she crossed her arms and glared across the counter at him.

 

“I noticed your sign out front and was wondering if you would consider me for the position.” He tried with all he had not to scowl back at the aging lady.

 

“I’m not hiring.” Her face was stone cold and emotionless as she spoke.

 

“But your sign-”

 

“You’re a Jew, ain’t ya.” Her eyes narrowed when he’s opened wider.

 

“Yes?” He was in shock. He hadn’t been called out on that one since he was in middle school and he had to beat the shit out of some kid who was trying to follow in the footsteps of his dad who ran the local off brand KKK chapter.

 

“I ain’t having a queer Jew handling my money. Can’t trust ya. Now, I said I’m not hiring.” She put her palms flat on the counter and drilled her eyes into Stans who was trying his hardest to control the shaking in his own hands.

 

“Fine. Have a good day, ma’am.” He bumped his arm against a stand of cigarettes on his way out the door, expertly slipping two packs up his sleeve.

 

The clinic was only a few blocks away from the store and there wasn’t anyone else in line ahead of him. He took a deep breath, shaking the old lady’s words from his head and instead focusing on the possibilities of any STD he may have picked up in his travels.

 

“Hello. What brings you in, today?” The man behind the counter was cheerful and his teeth were blindingly white in contrast with his dark skin. It was refreshing seeing a smiling face after that horrible wench of a woman.

 

“Hey. So, I need to get tested for like, everything.” He signed his name on the clipboard and listened and the man laughed.

 

“Everything, huh? Are you noticing any discomfort or has there been a recent discovery?” Stan glanced over the checklist the man handed him and started filling out what little information that he could.

 

“Uhhh, no. Nothing out of the ordinary but I kinda just started seeing this guy that I really don’t want to give AIDs or something.” Stan marked the boxes for medical history. He didn’t think he had and heart issues or diabetes.

 

“Oh, ok. In that case I’m going to hand you over to Dr. Harris. She’s wonderful and I think you might find it a little bit easier to talk to her. Just remember to be as truthful as possible. There is no judgement here.” He smiled a soft smile before taking the clipboard back and ushering him through a metal door.

  
  


Fiddleford pulled into the driveway around 5pm. Carol’s car was in there and he wasn’t sure whether to be happy or upset. He really didn’t want to see her but if he could just talk to her and get this over with, he could bring Stan home and if nothing else fall asleep next to him. He had been a little worried at Stan’s reluctance to get intimate. Ok, maybe he had been freaking out the entire ride home but the near fear of talking to his wife immediately shoved that to the back of his mind.

 

“Tate, darlin’.” Fiddleford unbuckled his carseat and lifted him out of the car. Tate groaned and lay his head back on his father’s shoulder. Fidds ran a hand over his hair and carried his sleeping body into the house and up to his room. After tucking him into bed, not bothering to take his clothes off, he swallowed his anxiousness and went off in search of his wife.

 

He found her in the living room, a glass of wine in one hand and the television remote in the other. She turned when he entered the room, meeting his eyes and looking back at the screen.

 

“Carol. We gotta talk.” He stepped further into the room and sat across from her. Seeing her sitting there brought back memories. Not awful ones. Now that he knew it was going to be over, he couldn't help  but think of the good times they had together, as few as they may have been.

 

“Yeah?” She didn’t look at him, only lifted her chin. Fiddleford wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do this. Did he lead up to it? Maybe give reasons? She knew all the reasons already. Did he just outright say it? She finally looked up at him.

 

“Are you going to talk or stare at me?” Her voice was impatient as she waved her glass at him. Anger flared in his chest, reminding him why he was doing this.

 

“I want a divorce.”

 

“I know you do.” She spoke as if she’d known this her entire life. Her attention turning back to the show on the television. He didn’t know what to say once again.

 

“Okk...So I guess I don’t have to do the whole, serving thing.” He thought he remembered reading something about being able to skip all of that if both parties agreed on the conditions of the divorce.

 

“Nope.”

 

“I’m keeping Tate.” His voice rose, preparing to fight.

 

“I know.” He sighed. He knew she wasn’t going to press for that. Now came the hard one.

 

“You signed a prenup.” His eyes narrowed and he squared his jaw.

 

“Yup, I did. I don’t need your money and I already have a place to go.” This was incredibly easy. Too easy. Something was wrong.

 

“How?” How in blazes did she have somewhere to go where she didn’t need money and already established a residence.

 

“I’ve been seeing someone for the last year. His family is highly influential in the government and I’m not going to need anything from you. I do ask a few things.”

 

Fiddleford wasn’t surprised in the least, though he was worried about what she was going to ask for. She already agreed to letting him keep Tate. “Yeah? What would that be?”

 

“Don’t ever speak to me again.”

 

The words took him by surprise, hitting him square in the face, mimicking her physical blow only a night prior. That hurt, actually. He wasn’t expecting her to cut off all communication. They had a blasted kid together. Five years of their life had been spent together and she just wanted to forget the whole thing?

 

“What? Carol. What about your son?”

 

“Fiddleford, you and I both know I never wanted to be a mother. I love him, I truly do but I’m not meant to be a mom. It’s best for him that I just go.”

 

She was serious. She was just going to leave. Up and leave him and her son to go live the life of some rich senator’s trophy wife. His stomach turned and he felt heat rising in his face. He knew he was going to start to cry and swallowed it down, not giving her the satisfaction. Tate needed his mom.

 

“You’re serious ain’t ya’. You’re just gonna up an’ leave.”

 

“I’m sorry, Fiddleford. I really am. I never meant for this to happen and I’m sorry. Maybe now you can be happy with someone else. I don’t hate you even though you probably hate me. I’m leaving tonight and I’ll be here to get the rest of my things in the morning.” She stood and went to sit next to her husband, placing a hand on his cheek.

 

“Are ya’ gonna tell Tate?” He didn’t want to be the one to do it. He couldn’t think. How could she just leave? He felt sick. Yeah, he didn’t want to be with her, and was absolutely horrible but he couldn’t picture his little June Bug coming home without his mama here.

 

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet. I don’t think I should be splitting custody. Paul doesn’t take well to kids.” She had one hand on his knee and the other still stroking his cheek. She was really going to pick some man’s happiness over her own son’s?

 

“How can you say that? How can you be so calm at the fact that you’re leavin’ your fuckin’’ flesh an’ blood for some piece’a ass?” He felt the rage bubbling inside of him, mixing with the heartache and creating a toxic stew in his gut.

 

“It’s what’s best and you know it.” She held her voice firm as she spoke.

 

“But, Carol. Can’t we, you know, stay friends? At least acquaintances? I don’t hate you. We just ain’t meant to be together. We ain’t gotta’ black out each other’s name.” He wasn’t sure why he was reacting like this. He didn’t love her. He didn’t want her but he had spent so much time with her. They had gone through so much together with raising a son and his rise to success. He leaned into her hand in spite of his growing anger, unable to stop the tear that ran down his cheek.

 

“No. You’re just emotional right now, Fiddleford. You never did take seperation well.” He knew she was right. He had a problem with being alone.

 

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet.

 

“It’s not like you’re going to be alone for long.” She brushed he fingers over the bruise under his ear. He forgot about that. He was going to be able to bring Stan home now. Maybe he’d stay with him sometimes instead of that motel which he could only imagine was horrible.

 

“You’re right. Maybe this is what’s best for all of us.” He finally forced himself to look into her eyes.

 

“Goodbye Fiddleford.” She pressed a closed mouth kiss to his lips and walked out to the living room, grabbing her purse and car keys. He didn’t move, processing everything that had happened. That was NOT how he expected that to go. There was a lot less screaming involved. He fell back onto the couch, throwing an arm over his face and breathing deep. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, opening the texts to Stan.

 

‘ME’

 

_Well, we had our talk. It went better than I expected. She agreed to the divorce and wants nothing to do with me or Tate. Can’t lie to ya’, I feel like garbage._

 

He placed the phone on his chest and closed his eyes again. She was really gone. He knew he was going to have to see her again to sign the papers and everything but, shit. Was he really that bad? The phone vibrated on his chest.

 

‘STAN’

 

_Oh, man. I wish I was there. I’m so sorry, Fidds but it’s going to be ok. I’m at the clinic right now getting poked and fondled by a scary lady in a lab coat if if makes you feel better. So far everything is A-OK. With any luck I’ll be able to surrender my body to you by Monday morning._

 

Fiddleford smiled at Stan’s goofy messages. He really was going to be ok.

 

‘ME’

 

_It does make me feel better. A lot better. Do you maybe want to come over tonight? I know I keep asking you but I really hate being alone in this big house. I need someone’s strong arms to keep me warm._

 

He smirked writing that last part. He knew Stan was going to read it how it was meant. As a taunt. He noticed the clock and hauled himself up from the couch, heading into the kitchen to make dinner. Stan replied within a minute.

 

‘STAN’

 

_You have no idea how embarrassing it is to get a boner when an old lady is explaining the symptoms of gonorrhea._

 

Fiddleford laughed and waited for Tate to wake up from his nap.


	10. What Is Going On?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan has his first check up in years. He thinks his life might be taking a turn fo the better. That is until Fidds sends him his address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First- Thank you to everyone who's been reading this.  
> Second- I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. I've been distracted.  
> Third- I changed where Fidds lived just for the sake of geological purposes but it doesn't affect the story except it makes better sense now.

The sterile table of the free clinic was cold underneath Stan as he sat alone, waiting for the doctor to come back in. He knew he was going to have to wait a few days for the results from the HIV test but at least he could know if he had chlamydia or syphilis or some other crazy fucking dick disease. He felt naked and exposed in the paper hospital gown they had given him and after getting those messages from Fidds telling him his wife was gone, all he wanted to do was get out of that place and see him. Fuck a job today. It wasn’t going to matter if he waited one more day. At the same time, he didn’t want to face that doctor. She had yet to conduct his actual physical and he knew that she was going to say something. She had no choice. Fuck, how far did ‘doctor/patient confidentiality’ go? Could she turn him into the cops? 

 

There was a knock on the examination room door before the doctor walked in, clipboard in hand and a pair of small reading glasses sitting atop her nose. She was beautiful, probably about his mother’s age. Her face was soft and she smiled at him as she glanced over his paperwork, teeth glittering white against her dark brown skin.

 

“Well, good afternoon, Mr. Pines. My name is Dr. Hilda King.  I’m glad you decided to come see us today.” Her smile turned from him and back to his chart. “So.You’re here for…” She chuckled and looked up her nose at him. “Everything.” 

 

“Hehe. Yeah, I guess I am.” He hated doctors but this lady seemed pretty alright. She couldn’t be making nearly enough as she should be, working at a free clinic and that fact that she was even looking at his paperwork was a blessing. 

 

“So.” She pulled up a rolling stool and set his chart on the sink next to her. “What exactly is ‘everything’? 

 

Stan shifted his body nervously and looked at the wall. ‘ _ Fuck. How do I start this?’ _ “Well, I guess I want to know if I’m, ya know. Healthy?” 

 

“Mhmm.” She stood from her stool and pulled a stethoscope from around her neck and placed it on his chest, under his gown. “And what would lead you to believe you weren’t healthy? Breath in deep through your nose, hon.” 

 

He took a deep breath and let it out through his mouth before speaking. “You know. Just been a while since I’ve got a check up.”

 

“Hmm. Can you bend over for me and spread your legs? I know it sucks but we gotta do it.” She pulled on a pair of gloves and Stan shut his eyes as she continued his exam. “Everything’s ok so far, hon. Just gotta look at the front now. Have you ever noticed any sores? Pain during intercourse or urination? Blood or pus or any of that wonderful stuff?” She looked straight ahead as she poked and prodded at him.

 

“No, thank moses. Otherwise I would have been here a lot sooner.” She pulled off her gloves and threw them away.

 

“Well, everything looks good so far. I’m just waiting on the urine sample to come back. Should be done in a few minutes. The HIV test won’t be back for a few days though. But I seriously doubt you have it.”

 

Honestly that was reassuring. It had been something weighing on the back of his mind for a while. That shit was spreading pretty quick. “That’s good to hear, Doc.”

 

“Hmm. My assistant tells me you’ve recently formed a new relationship. Is that right?” She continued to check his pulse and blood pressure as she spoke, not forcing him to make eye contact and he silently thanked her for that. 

 

“Yeah. That’s right.”

 

“And you’re here making sure you’re not going to pass anything on to them.” 

 

“Yup.” He swallowed as she paused, looking at his arm before strapping the blood pressure cuff gently over the sores on his lower arm. He could feel her looking at him and glanced up, embarrassed and ashamed. But she wasn’t looking at him like he was some filth-ridden smackhead. She was smiling at him as if she were his mom and he just threw up on his bed after she told him not to stay out in the cold for so long or he’d get sick. 

 

“I’m-” Stan tried but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“We’ll get there. I’m not done asking you about this new partner. Remember, nothing that is said leaves this room, alright?” She started pumping the cuff and apologizing when his face clearly showed the pain the pressure was causing the sores on his arm. He nodded.

 

“So, male?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“And have you two been intimate?” She released the pressure and wrote something down in his paperwork. 

 

“Well, that depends on what you consider ‘intimate’.” Stan rubbed at where the cuff was and fought the instinct to lie to authority. This wasn’t a time to be a fucking pussy. 

 

“Well, intercourse, obviously. Oral sex, kissing, any kind of skin on skin contact in the genital area.” She sat back down in front of him. 

 

“I...um, well.” He was scared now. Kissing? He had blown Fidds that morning. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that he could spread something that way. 

 

“It’s alright, Mr. Pines. Nothing leaves this room. It’s better to tell me the truth.” She sat back, waiting for him to answer her before she continued her examination. 

 

“Well, we’ve made out. And, um, oral sex.” He blushed and looked at the tiles on the floor. 

 

“It’s alright. Nothing to be ashamed of, ok? Now, how long have you two been in an intimate relationship. Meaning how long have you been making out and participating in oral sex?” 

 

“Haha.” Stan laughed in shock when he thought about that. Shit, it hadn’t even been a full 24 hours. “About a day.” 

 

“Only a day. Well now I’m really proud of you for coming in here. You must plan on this relationship lasting a while, huh?” 

 

“I really hope so, ma’am. I’ve never met a guy like him before. I don’t deserve to even have him look in my direction, let alone have his dick in my mouth.” He caught what he said after it left his mouth and stared in horror at the doctor. “Uhhhh, I mean…”

 

“Haha. Mr. Pines. I told you, nothing to be ashamed of. From what I can see this man is just as lucky to have you. Why don’t you tell me about him while I get a few things ready?” He knew she just wanted him to distract himself while she got ready to jab him with a bunch of needles. He had no qualms telling someone about how fucking great Fidds was though. 

 

“Alright. Well. First, he’s fucking perfect. He’s not quite as tall as me and thin as a rail but he’s got this cute little belly and he’s strong as hell but you wouldn’t see it from looking at him. He grew up on a farm down south and he’s got the most adorable southern drawl. His eyes are so cool. I had no idea what color they were until he told me they didn’t have one. He’s got this thing, center cromea or something. But they’re like, green and gold. His hair is kinda long and blonde and his skin is almost flawless except for a couple freckles. He’s got cute little reading glasses like yours and they make him look just like the nerd he is.” She finished with one syringe and went over to him, pushing it into his arm.

 

“He certainly sounds attractive.” 

 

“He is. But that’s not why I like him so much. He’s so fucking smart. Like, he made this cell phone that we can send pictures and write things to each other on. I’m not really sure what he does, exactly but I know he’s an inventor. He’s going to be rich one day. He’s so good. And he has a kid named Tate. The little shit. He’s just as weird as his dad. They both think I’m a damn jungle-gym. Fidds has the energy of a damn five year old, I swear to god.”

 

She pulled the needle from his arm and went back to the sink and washed her hands. “Fidds?” She wandered back over to him and started probing at his neck with her fingers, checking lymph nodes. 

 

“Yeah. Fiddleford McGucket. Weird name, right?” The doctor’s hands left his body and she chuckled. 

 

“Haha. Ok. Fiddleford McGucket.” Her voice sounded mocking but Stan wasn’t sure and decided to just ignore it. “So. On that note, are you going to address the elephant in the room or are you going to make me do it?” 

 

There it was. Stan sighed and figured it wasn’t going to do him any good stalling. “I’m, you know. Trying to stop.” 

 

“Well, that’s very good to hear. When was the last time you dosed yourself?” 

 

“This morning.” He sounded fucking pathetic. “I, you know. I hate it. I didn’t think I’d ever become a fucking junkie. I don’t think I am. I mean, I’m sure I can stop. It’s just…” 

 

“Hard.” She placed a hand on his knee and rolled up her own sleeve, revealing dull scars up and down her arm. “Trust me, I know.” 

  
Stan was shocked. This lady was a doctor. Like, she was actually a doctor. “How-?”

 

“You don’t have to be a degenerate to get sucked into the dark world around you. But you do have to be strong to ask for help getting out. Are you asking me for help, Stan?” Her eyes never left his face even as he rubbed at the sores on his own arm. He thought about Fidds and Tate and the day they had together. His wife was gone. They could do that everyday. He could be with them everyday but he wouldn’t be able to if he didn’t stop. 

 

“Yeah.” His voice was weak. He needed help.

 

“Ok. I can help you but you know it’s not going to be easy.” She wasn’t going to sugarcoat this for him and he liked that. “There is a medicine that I can give you to help wean you off of heroin but I’m warning you it’s got some pretty hairy side-effects. Still, it’s better to move down slowly instead of just stopping.”

 

That sounded perfect. “Yeah, that sounds great.” 

 

“What have you normally been giving yourself?” She dug around in a cupboard above the sink.

 

“Umm, about 25mg. It’s...been taking more lately.” He used to be about to get away with 10mg maybe even 8mg but not anymore. He knew guys who would shoot up 75mg so he knew he 

wasn’t that bad off. 

 

“Alrighty.” She was pulling a small amount of clear liquid into a syringe and pulling out an elastic tie-off. “I’m going to give you 25mg of this.” She tied off the rubber tube and slid the needle into his arm. Immediately he felt the effects; not enough to put him to sleep but just enough to bring that warm feeling up from his stomach and through his veins. It wasn’t quite the same feeling he got from the shit in his hotel room but it was just as good. He felt himself reach out to touch her arm and she didn’t pull away. 

 

“Woah, Doc. This shit is something, huh?” He wanted to lay back on the table. 

 

“Yeah, Stan. It’s something.” She smiled but it looked pained. “I want you to come see me again next week.” She stood and went to the counter and started filling out a prescription. 

 

“I didn’t know I could be a patient at a free clinic.” He slowly pulled on his pants, hoping he could leave as soon as possible. 

 

“You can’t. I’m a physician at a rehab clinic when I’m not here. I can’t live off a free clinic wage. It doesn’t exist.” Stan’s heart fell at her words. 

 

“I, uhh...I don’t really have insurance. Or, money.” 

 

“I kinda figured as much.” She didn’t stop writing on her pad.  

 

“I can’t-” She cut him off before he had a chance to try and explain that he couldn't pay for a doctor. If he could he wouldn't be at the 24 hour free clinic.

 

“I'm not asking you to pay. Every three or four years I allow myself to take on one patient pro bono.”

 

Ok, no one just did that without some ulterior motive. He felt the initial feeling of exhaustion wearing off already and he could think again. “What’s the catch?”

 

“The  _ catch _ is that I’m going to be giving you drug tests and if I  _ catch  _ you slipping up and shooting up then I stop treating you and you pay me back for whatever services I’ve provided you with.” She spun around and handed him the little slip of paper. “Is that clear?” 

 

All he had to do was not fuck up. He didn't actually have a very good track record at not fucking up. Pretty much the complete opposite. But he needed her help and there was no fucking way he could pay for it himself. 

 

“As crystal, sweet cheeks.” Winking at her, he pulled his shirt over his head.  He was ready to just get out of there and get to Fidds house. He hadn’t, you know, asked but he was pretty damn sure he'd say yes. Grabbing the prescription he headed for the door before a hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

 

“Stanley.” Her voice was soft yet firm.

 

He felt like you did when you knew your mom was going to tell you your grandma died. His heart stammered in his chest. “Yeah?”

 

“I'm trusting you. If you really like this guy you need to stay strong. No matter how hard it is going to be.”

 

Her eyes showed something he hadn't seen in years. Not since he left home. Not since every last person in the word gave up on him. Since he’d lost the only person in the world who ever had any faith he wasn't a fucking waste of space, burn-out junkie. They were the eyes of someone who wanted to believe in him. Who thought they  _ could _ believe in him. She said she was trusting him. Trusting  _ him.  _ It made his chest tighten and he knew if he spoke his voice would crack. He wasn’t good with feelings. He felt things too strong too quickly. 

 

Her expression softened even more, catching on to his sudden surge of emotions. She was smart, this lady. “This WILL show up in a drug test if you’re taking more than the dosage I assign you.”

 

“I’ll be good. I promise.” He sounded like a fucking five year old, himself. He had no idea why he felt so much like crying. Like if he disappointed this lady that he would be giving up any chance of happiness he had left. Maybe he would be. She was going to help him stop and if he could stop, maybe he could be with Fidds for a long time. Maybe he could fix his life. Maybe he could see Ford again. He blinked feverishly trying to clear away the tears that were fogging his vision. The urge to break down and hug this lady like she was his mom pulsed through him and he wanted to kick himself. It didn’t work and he was too ashamed to lift a hand and wipe away the tear that escaped the corner of his eye. 

 

“I know you will, hon.” She grabbed his free hand and grasped it firmly, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. It only made more tears fall from his eyes and he squeezed them tight, hopping they’d stop. He wanted to stop so fucking bad. He wanted to be good for this lady. For Fidds and Tate. Fuck, for Ford. It had to be one of the drugs side effects making him cry like a little girl. 

 

“I don’t know you very well but I can tell you’re strong. You are strong, aren't you, Stan?” He couldn’t respond, only shake his head. He wasn’t strong. If he was strong he wouldn’t have started doing the damn drugs in the first place. He would have had the nerve to call his brother instead of hanging up the phone whenever he answered. He wasn’t strong. 

 

He sucked in a shuddered gasp and Dr. King pulled him into her and sat them both down on the examination table. Stan gave up on trying to keep himself together. He’d already had this lady’s finger up his ass and she was helping him stop shooting up smack. There wasn’t any reason to hide some fucking tears from her. She made him feel safe and without thinking he wrapped his arms around her middle, lay his head on her chest and let out a racking sob. She hugged him close and rubbed a hand down his back. He was pretty sure this wasn’t the kind of doctor who was trained to take care of mental breakdowns but she was good at it. 

 

“Why don’t you think you’re strong, hmm? You came in here with the possibility of finding out you had a deadly illness just so you didn’t pass it on to another. You’re getting help to stop doing drugs. You’re starting a relationship with someone who already has a child and you plan to help raise him, don’t you?”

 

He hadn’t thought about that. Tate didn’t have a mother now. Not one that was actually going to be there anyways. He was going to be there in her place. Hopefully for a long ass time. He was going to be like, a dad. A sudden jolt of affection pulled another long, heaving breath into Dr. King’s chest and he nodded.

 

“You’re not hiding who you are, Stanley. Do you have any idea how many people come in here and lie to me about their partner? You had no problem telling me about him. You were excited and proud. I respect you for every one of those things. It takes someone strong to do even one of them.”

 

He managed to choke out a small, ‘ _ yeah’  _ before pulling himself up and wiping his face on his sleeve. 

 

“We all make mistakes, Stan.” She wiped away a tear with her hand and cupped his chin. He swallowed as he looked at her sparkling brown eyes and nodded once again. “You alright, now?”

 

“Yeah.” His voice was brittle and he looked down at the tear stains on Dr. King’s lab coat. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry. Nothing to be sorry about. Remember, it’s just you and me. We’re going to work together and everything is going to be alright again.” There was a knock on the door and the young man from the counter peeked his head in the room. 

 

“Dr. King.” He looked at Stan’s tear stained face and back to the doctor’s face. “I, um. I have the test results.” 

 

“Thank you, Wallace. Can you bring them here?” He hurried over to the table and put the paper’s in her hands. He scurried out of the room, shutting the door behind him and Dr. King flipped through the pages. 

 

“Well. Hmmm….” She squinted her eyes and read over the pages. “I have some bad news, Stan.” 

 

He felt his heart drop into his feet. “What?” He couldn’t breath. What did he have? 

 

“You don’t have any STD’s.” He sighed, relief washing through his body. “But you do have a kidney infection. Have you noticed any pain in your back or abdomen? Blood in your urine or pain?” 

 

He hadn’t noticed any of that. How could he not know that? “No, I haven’t noticed anything. What does that mean? Am I going to be ok?” What was a kidney infection? Those were really important, weren’t they?

 

“You’re going to be fine. Nothing that can’t be fixed with some antibiotics. But you’re going to want to keep a close eye on it with the methadone. It can also affect your kidney function and trust me. You don’t want it to get worse. You’re actually really lucky we found it before it started causing any discomfort. They can be nasty little things.”

 

“Ok. Alright, cool. Is it contagious?” He might not have chlamydia but he didn’t want to pass on something else. 

 

“No, it’s not contagious. Certainly not through anal sex but you  _ should _ still be using a condom until your HIV test comes back, young man. I’ll write you another prescription for some antibiotics.” 

 

“Thanks, Doc.” His eyes were scratchy and he knew they had to be red. That reminded him of something. “Hey, um, so…” He rubbed his knee and looked down at the tiles. 

 

“Yeees?” She knew something was coming. 

 

“That drug test. Is it  _ only _ going to test for the hard stuff?” He didn’t want to lose this over weed. 

 

“Do you mean, is it going to trace marijuana?” Her eyes were down-turned and she smirked at him like he was just caught passing notes in class.

 

Stan cleared his throat, face turning red. “Yeah.”

 

“It will.” She handed him the prescription for the antibiotics. “But, I might overlook it. We’ll see how you’re doing in a month. Ok?”  

 

“Ok.” Stan smiled and put the prescription with the other. 

 

“Here’s the address for the clinic. This is where you’re going to go to get the methadone, ok? And this is where you’re going to come see me. I’ll see you in a week, Mr. Pines.” She smiled at him and held open the door. 

 

“See you in a week, Doc. And umm, thanks.” 

 

“Thank yourself, Stan. It’s you, not me.” He pulled on his coat and with one last smile headed out the front door and pulled out his phone. 

 

‘ME’

 

_ Hey, Ace. I don’t have any STD’s. Still waiting on the HIV test but the doc is pretty sure I don’t got it. Still up for that movie? _

 

He slipped the phone back in his pocket and headed back in the direction of his motel room. His mind was full of the doctors promises. ‘ _ Everything’s going to be alright again.’ _ God, he really wanted it to be. He was done. Done dealing, done shooting up, just fucking done. He was done with everything. Stealing, hustling, fleecing rubes on the street corner. He wanted to be a good boyfriend and kinda dad. He was going to get a job and work for an honest living. His heart lightened at the thought of coming home from a long day’s work and cuddling on the couch with Fidds. 

 

“Hey.” A voice called to him as he passed a darkened alleyway. He should have kept walking. He should have ignored it and went to his motel room. But of course he didn’t. 

 

“Yeah? What?” He stopped walking, pausing just outside of the entrance to the brick corridor. 

 

“You that guy who’s been sellin’ down at Jimmy’s?” The voice was deep and sent chills up Stan’s spine. 

 

“Yeah. What of it?” As far as he knew that wasn’t anyone’s turf. But he was more than ready to fight some asshole who tried to call him out on moving in. Fucking kids around here think they can just decide who’s boss all willy-nilly like they’re fucking drug lords. 

 

“You’re pretty strong huh? Fought off Jose’s pushers like it was nothin’.” The voice didn’t move out of the shadows. 

 

“Yeah. Fuckers tried to take my shit. No one takes my shit. What do you want? I’m kinda doing something.” He felt to phone buzz in the back pocket of his jeans. 

 

“You wanna make some money?” He normally would have jumped at the offer. Hell yes he wanted to make some money. But he’d just sworn to himself he was finished not even five minutes ago. Maybe one more time wouldn’t hurt. He could take Fidds out for breakfast tomorrow. Stan took a step towards the voice. He could see him now, dark jacket and a pair of black dress pants. This guy wasn’t a dealer. 

 

“I’m listening.” 

 

“Come to this address tomorrow morning.” He handed Stan a white card with an address written of it in red ink. It wasn’t far from where they were now. A run down neighborhood pretty much exactly like this one know for it’s shitty supply and shittier people. Not something he’d normally want to get involved with but this was his last time. He swore to himself it was the last time. The man turned and walked down the alley without another word. Stan turned the card around in his hand. Nothing else, just the address. Something deep inside of his chest told him this was a terrible idea. 

 

The phone in his pocket buzzed again and the thought was pushed to the back of his mind as he flipped open the phone and read the messages. 

 

‘FIDDS’

 

_ Oh, Stan that’s great to hear! Yes, please come over. I really could use some company tonight.” _

 

‘FIDDS’

 

_ Here’s the address. Park next to my truck. My neighbors are a bit fickle. I can’t wait to see you.  _

 

_ 41 Beverly Park Circle _

_ Beverly Hills, CA _

_ 90210 _

 

_ (Please, don’t judge my house. It was my wife’s choice. Not mine.)  _

 

Stan stared at the address Fidds had sent him and he swallowed, reading it again. ‘Beverly Park Circle’. Beverly Hills. Fidds lived in Beverly Hills. On Beverly Park. And hung out in South LA? This had to be a joke. Fidds was screwing with him. He drove a beat to shit Ford Bronco, for fuck’s sake. 

 

‘ME’

 

_ Haha. Good one. Now what’s your actual address? I’m in the car now. _

 

He swung open the door to his car and slide in, his heart racing as he waited for the blonde’s response. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be a joke or not. If Fidds lived on Beverly Park, he had to live an a fucking CASTLE. How sweet would that be? If he were dating a millionaire? But at the same time, why the fuck would Fidds want to be with him? He was literally a homeless man. Shit like that didn’t happen. Yeah, he knew his brother but what the hell did that matter? Was he only doing this because he wanted to make sure Ford’ brother was ok? Ford didn’t give a fuck. But the way Fidds looked at him. That had to be something. The phone buzzed and he nearly dropped it onto the floor from trying to open it too fast.

 

‘FIDDS’

 

_ I’m so sorry, Stan. It’s not a joke. Come over and I’ll explain. I’ve got spaghetti on the stove and Tate wants you to color with him.  _

 

Stan gripped the steering wheel and slid the key into the ignition. It wasn’t a joke. Was he in the Twilight Zone? First that weird alley guy now this? What the fuck was going on. 

 

‘ME’

 

_ Yeah. I’m on my way. If I show up and I get arrested for trespassing on some asshole’s property, you’re paying my bail.  _

 

He headed  out of the parking lot and in the direction of Beverly Hills. He had twenty minutes to figure out whether he was excited or horrified. 

 

‘FIDDS’

 

_ I promise I won’t call the cops. _

 

He might need more than twenty minutes.  


End file.
